


Slip and Fall

by amaradangeli



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-08
Updated: 2009-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-ep for Harbingers in the Fountain. Booth must decide if his feelings for Bones are real or if they're merely a side effect of his coma. But things get complicated when he slips. And who knows? He just may fall.  (Previously posted to FFN.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've written this way. That's to say: to post a story for viewing before it's complete. I've been writing for archives and my own website for a long time now. The last time I wrote and posted as I went was way back on the Delphi boards when I was writing X-Files fanfiction. I was about 17 then. I'm hoping I'm able to do this as well now as I could then. Well, hopefully my writing has gotten better. But I mean hopefully I'll be able to stay in the creative zone long enough to post consistently.
> 
> That said, I'm not likely to follow a schedule. I'll write, then I'll post. Some times it'll happen quick, fast and in a hurry. Other times it'll be like pulling teeth to get a readable chapter out. But I've allowed myself to stop writing and I'm hoping that know you all are here waiting will help keep me motivated.
> 
> Now, about the story. It's carrying an M rating because I know me. I should have a t-shirt made that says "All plots lead to sex." In truth, when I'm writing, they do. However, it also carries an M rating because it's going to deal with grown up emotional issues. Things that, while readable by younger readers, probably won't fully resonate with them. I'm just going to say right now: herein will lie adult material from time to time. If you're not an adult, respect the process and wait until you're mature enough to read.
> 
> Blanket disclaimer (though these things really can't keep us from being sued if the show's creators ever really decided to have a hate on for fic writers): The characters of Bones do not belong to me. The situations I have them in that don't sound familiar? Well, those belong to me or the other people I've ripped them off from.
> 
> ~Amara D'Angeli

_Over the last several years I've slipped about a half a dozen times. Once in front of someone else and once in front of her. And I don't care what Sweets said, it started before the coma, before the tumor and before whatever other traumas that may have made my brain think "love". I created this fantasy world in my head where it was okay to call her things like "Babe", "Baby", "Honey" and "Love". It started back about the time I pressed her body between me and the floor of the Gormogon vault._

_Back before the surgery, when I told her I wanted her to have my contribution to Operation Baby if I didn't make it I could have easily admitted I loved her. She was my partner, my friend, and very important to me. And part of it was a reaction to the fact that I could very well die. It was a way to both leave my mark on the world, Parker not withstanding, but to also give her that which would make her happiest. But now that I'm pretty sure I'm_ _**in** _ _love with her, well, things aren't so easy._

_Cam and Sweets were right, even if I didn't want to admit it. I've got to be careful here because if I breach her walls I'd better be damn sure about how I feel. If I tell her I'm in love with her and then change my mind because this really is all just a side effect of the coma that will just melt away like the other symptoms…She'll never get over that. I'm not saying she wouldn't get over me. I'm not even sure how she feels about me. But it would be abandoning her in the worst possible way – it would be a full attack on her heart. Even if she wouldn't agree with the semantics._

_But there, sitting on the floor of that clinic with her warm blood flooding my fingers and her hand clutching my wrist, I slipped. I kissed her hair and called her "Baby". She didn't react at all. I'm not sure she heard me through the pain, fear and adrenaline. I don't know why I slipped then instead of the countless other times she's been hurt. But it was a rough week what with admitting my feelings to Cam and Sweets and both of them telling me in no uncertain terms to tread softly._

_Then, I totally punked out. I told her I loved her. Then I told her that it was in a professional, atta-girl kind of way. She just looked at me for a few moments like I'd grown a second head then she smiled like she got the joke. But I get the feeling she saw right through me. She's much more in touch with the workings of human emotion than she lets on._

He tapped the keys on the keyboard deciding whether or not to continue. Truthfully, he felt a little stupid writing all of that down but Sweets insisted it would be a good way for him to work his way through his feelings.

His cell phone rang and he slammed the laptop closed guiltily. He looked at the display and saw her name there. As it continued to ring he turned it over and over in his hand unsure whether or not to answer. When he dropped her off that afternoon in the parking lot of the Jeffersonian she was still on the "what all works out eventually?" kick.

And he just didn't have an answer for her. Either it all worked out that he wasn't actually in love with her and they went back to being partners and friends and it was no big deal that he loved her once because he never really told her how he felt. Or, what he felt was real and she loved him too and they were together. But he was running scared. It all hinged on him and he wasn't yet sure where he stood with himself.

So, like a coward, he let the call go to voicemail. But twenty minutes later the phone was ringing again. He contemplated it again but still couldn't bring himself to answer. That time he clicked the button to send her to voicemail then turned the phone off. But five minutes after that he was feeling like an ass and turned the phone back on to listen to his messages.

" _Booth, it's Brennan. Angela says we all need to get together and celebrate the end of the case and your return to duty—"_

" _And you being home, Sweetie."_  Angela was shouting in the background to be heard across the connection.

" _And, evidently, my return from Guatemala, though I'm not sure why that's a celebratory occasion as I frequently leave and then return. But we're going for drinks now."_

He deleted the message and moved on to the next. He expected Bones' voice since hers was the last number that had called but he heard Angela.

" _Booth, it's Angela, we're all here but you're not and it's kinda hard to celebrate you without you. Get your cute little ass down to the bar, my friend. Sweets is trying to talk Cam into Karaoke…"_  She trailed off and then he heard Bones' voice in hushed tones just before the call clicked off.

He sighed and figured he could keep it together for an evening in a bar. It's not like he hadn't been keeping it together for a couple of years. Besides, when he told her he loved her he managed to backpedal his way out of that.

He pulled on a pair of jeans over the boxers he was wearing and exchanged his white undershirt for a dark grey printed tee and grabbed his phone and his keys on the way out the door. Really, he reasoned as he put the SUV into drive, he only slipped once.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing this without a beta. I have lovely betas but they beta my Buffy work and aren't Bones watchers. I'm hell on a beta and it takes a special sort to deal with me. I require that my betas have a better grip on the English language and its uses than I, and I've got a pretty good grip on the rules. All that's to say any mistakes herein are mine and mine alone. Perhaps I'll find someone I trust my work with as I move through this story (and hopefully others!).
> 
> Again, thanks for taking the time to read – I know we're all busy and it warms the cockles of my heart to know you're willing to spend a little of your hard earned time off reading and stroking my ego.
> 
> Now, on with the show.
> 
> ~Amara D'Angeli

She kept one eye on the door while she sipped her drink. Angela was seated on her right chatting animatedly with Hodgins and Cam. She smiled from time to time to give the impression she was involved in the conversation. She flicked her eyes over to the bar where Sweets was attempting to corral drinks for four in unaccommodating glasses without spilling anything. She nudged Angela and indicated Sweets' predicament with a nod of her head and prepared to get up to give him a hand. Angela placed a hand on her forearm and sent a nod of her own in that direction. In the short time she'd taken her eyes off the door he'd arrived and was now shoulder-to-shoulder with Sweets at the bar.

A song she vaguely recognized spilled out from the speakers the Karaoke DJ manned. The crowd hadn't yet caught the Karaoke bug so the music was still quite enjoyable. Angela's face lit up and she popped up from her seat winding her way through the tables to the bar towards Booth and Sweets. Her body moved as if its purpose was the music. It flowed through her causing her hips to strike the downbeats. Brennan couldn't take her eyes off Angela. And Brennan knew if she couldn't keep her eyes off the pretty artist the men she passed by on her way to the bar wouldn't be able to keep their eyes off her either.

When Angela reached the bar she tapped Booth on the shoulder, said something that made him smile wide, pilfered the beer out of his hand and set it down on the bar, took him by the hand and led him to the small dance floor. Face to face on the floor he wrapped right arm around her waist in a comfortable gesture and she placed her left hand on his right shoulder blade drawing them together. They were relaxed in each other's arms as his hips matched the rhythm of hers. Brennan's breath caught. They moved beautifully together. Or, perhaps, they each moved beautifully on their own because it was apparent, even to her – and she knew she wasn't the most observant in these matters – that there wasn't a romantic thought passing between them. Both their faces were alight with the enjoyment dancing can bring.

Brennan considered them as she sipped her drink. As she watched she realized she knew both the song and singer and where she'd heard it before – it was Slow Dance, John Legend, and Angela played the CD over and over again. Her eyes fell to their feet and she discovered they were barely moving them. All that movement was generated by their hips. She raised her eyes to their faces. Both were smiling broadly and chatting a little. Booth's eyes never strayed to any of Angela's apparent attributes even though the eyes of many of the men in the place were glued to all the places her outfit and particularly sexy moves were designed to draw attention to. Brennan considered that. Then, she smiled.

That man, the one dancing with her best friend, had told her he loved her. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it especially once he qualified his statement. Truthfully, she wasn't completely sure how she felt about him, especially since the operation and subsequent coma. But, she heard the words come out of his mouth and something unexpected happened – she felt…unafraid. Possibly for the first time in many years she didn't feeling like running from, or punching, the man who said those words to her. She couldn't consider the possibility, in the three seconds before he told her in exactly what way he meant, that he meant he was  _in_  love with her. Intellectually she understood the concept but she wasn't sure their relationship could result in such feelings. She wasn't quite sure how one fell in love or quite what that felt like. So no, that's not what she'd thought he meant when he said it. But, she was quite sure he was speaking in a more platonic than professional manner. Then he said it was professional. And she was so confused.

She lifted her drink to her lips again only to discover her glass was empty. As she went to stand to go and liberate the next round from Sweets, the song ended and Angela and Booth returned to Sweets, who'd been watching them as well, collected the glasses and bottles and made their way back to the table.

"Woo," Angela said as she regained her seat, "I haven't danced like that since," she paused to consider when and poked Hodgins in the shoulder, "since we went to that little Juke Joint on Nebraska Avenue."

He smiled at her, "I'm surprised you can remember that night at all."

"I'll admit only that it's a little hazy and leave it at that."

"I have to say I was impressed, Agent Booth, I'd have thought you'd be a little more spastic on the dance floor than that." Sweets grinned into his beer and flinched when the larger man made to punch him in the arm.

Booth pulled the punch at the last moment, smirked at the psychologist and then clapped him on the back. "Eh, Angie made me look good." He sent a wink in Angela's direction and took a long pull off his Yuengling.

Angela lifted her glass, "Now that we're all here I propose a toast." Glasses around the table were raised. "To having the whole fam-damn-ily back together again. May we have weathered the worst of the storm."

"Hear, hear!" Hodgins interjected as they drank to the sentiment.

In the background what sounded like a modern day Irish drinking song began to play. Brennan cracked a smile and Booth gave her a half a grin while raising an eyebrow at her. She realized she was happy. Really and truly happy for the first time since she'd stood next to Booth when he received the news about his tumor. Booth was slouched back in his chair, one hand resting lightly on his thigh, the other playing with the corner of the label on his bottle. Beneath the table she reached for his hand, caught his fingers across her palm and gave them a quick squeeze while shooting him a brilliant smile. He brushed his thumb across the back of her fingers and matched her smile with one of his own.

She may not understand what he meant before on that sidewalk but yes, she was sure he was fully back. And she just couldn't keep the smile off her face.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, please! You can't really think one doesn't have anything to do with the other." Sweets slurred his words to Booth but still picked up the glass in front of him and took a drink.

Booth colored slightly but covered his embarrassment by rolling his eyes and turning away from his semi-private conversation with the drunken psychologist and feigning interest in the discussion Cam, Angela and Brennan were having concerning some particular designer's shoes. He glanced over at Hodgins to see the man's eyes were slightly glazed over. Enough was enough. He set his beer bottle down on the table with a loud clunk and managed to create a domino effect with the other empties on the table. While he gathered the bottles up and deposited them in the trash under the watchful glare of the interrupted women he said, "Okay, I thought we were supposed to be celebrating not discussing whoever's fall line."

"Manolo Blahnik." Cam and Angela answered in unison.

"Who the fuck ever," Booth answered but a smile tempered the harsh words. He picked up the full bottle of beer he'd had waiting for him and pointed it at Angela. "You're gonna dance with me again while we watch Cam do the Karaoke that lured me here."

Cam's eyes got round as saucers. "Oh no, I don't think so." A sly smile slid into place. "I think we both know it wasn't the promise of me singing Karaoke that got you here tonight."

"But come on, G-Man, we can dance," Angela said standing.

Booth glanced down at Bones and saw a small smile playing at her lips. She looked down right amused. He loved that look on her and fought the urge to trail his finger along the shell of her ear and through the silky strands of her hair that were tucked behind it. He needed something to do with his hand and reached out to Angela to offer a hand to the floor.

Once situated on the floor and dancing a little wildly to Spoon's I Turn My Camera On Angela fixed him with a hard glance and said, "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but you seem to have changed your game strategy a little."

He gave her a look then spun her out away from him then tugged her back into his arms. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're trying to tell me you're not acting any differently at all now that Bren's back?"

"I'm trying to tell you her presence has nothing to do with the way I'm acting. If I'm acting any differently it's because of the amnesia." He grinned at her. "Maybe I haven't remembered everything yet and I don't even know it."

"You're going to have to sell that somewhere else. Why haven't you dragged her out here with you if you're so crazy about dancing?"

He looked uncomfortable so she took pity on him. "Something changed, right? It has to do with that coma-dream, doesn't it?" She patted him lightly on the chest. "Avalon was right about the two of you, wasn't she? There's something going on there. Come on, Booth, you can tell me."

"Jeez, Angela, you're like the Daily Mirror. You'd be the last person I'd tell."

She raised her eyebrows in response.

"Not that there's anything to tell," he finished hurriedly.

She sighed and moved closer into his embrace as the song changed to something slower and more conducive to conversation. "If you needed to talk, I'd keep my mouth shut. I know things can't be easy right now. It's all over your face. Hers too since you guys arrested Fargood."

He used their dance frame to squeeze her into a hug, "I'll just say things are a little unstable right now, and leave it there. I'm not saying things are good or bad – they're just…well, I'm figuring some things out."

She rose onto her tip toes, though she didn't really need to, and kissed his cheek near the handsome crinkles that framed his eye. "I'm going to keep an eye on both of you, though. And I'm not afraid to get involved, you know that."

He chuckled and gave her a little shake until she was back in her own dance space. "Yeah, Ange, I know that." He gave her a few more turns around the floor then, when the song ended, released her back in the direction of the table and made his way towards the men's room.

There he ran into Sweets and groaned. He just wasn't going to catch a break. Sweets looked over at him and swayed slightly from his post in front of a urinal. "Eyes front, Sweets, you're a little too drunk to multi-task," Booth grumbled at him.

"Are you having a good time, Agent Booth?" Sweets' speech was slightly less slurred than it was before Booth had taken to the dance floor. The boy must have switched to water.

"Sure." Booth fumbled for his belt buckle before he realized he'd neglected to put his belt on before leaving the house. He cursed under his breath and slid the zipper on his jeans down.

"Have you made a decision regarding your feelings for Dr. Brennan?"

Booth growled. "Can't a man piss in peace?"

"You know, your reluctance to discuss the matter indicates a desire to go against the advice you've received from both me and Dr. Saroyan."

"I haven't made any decisions. I still can't figure out what the hell is going on in my head, okay? I just want to go back out there, drink my beer, have a good time, then go home and get some sleep."

Sweets swayed slightly again as he zipped his trousers and reached for the flush handle on the urinal. "Okay. I don't think I'm in much of a position to be dispensing advice right now, anyway."

At that Booth had to laugh, "No, I don't think you are. What'd you have? Two beers?" He laughed again.

The younger man looked put out but declined to answer after shooting Booth what would have been, had his eyes not been glassy and slightly crossed, a scathing glance.

Booth smiled to himself as Sweets wobbled out of the small room. When he got back to the table Sweets, Cam, Angela and Hodgins were all out on the dance floor laughing riotously and dancing along with the other drunkards to the Macarena. "Whatsa matter, Bones? Don't know the Macarena?"

"Is that what that's called? I wasn't entirely sure there wasn't some epileptic epidemic happening out there." The small, amused smile he loved toyed with her lips again and he found himself fascinated by the slight twitch it brought to the lipsticked flesh.

"Did you just make a joke?"

"I am capable of crafting amusing responses to social queues, Booth."

"There's my girl." He smiled at her and lifted his bottle to his lips cursing yet another slip. Okay, make that only slipped twice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say this chapter took on a different tone than I had in mind and that's solely due to the music I decided to play while writing. I'd originally intended to write while listening to the classic rock I imagine Booth would have playing in the car. Instead I clicked on my "Sexy Sounding Music" play list and…voila.
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed and/or added this story to alerts or favorites so far. If I haven't replied personally please don't think I didn't read and appreciate every word. Thanks to those of you who have been kind enough to point out my typos as I've been without a beta – while the mistakes aren't getting corrected here at they are getting corrected in the original document for later publication on my website.
> 
> ~Amara D'Angeli

At eleven thirty Brennan took a surreptitious glance at her watch. Angela and Sweets were still living it up out on the dance floor and Cam and Hodgins had just ordered another round. Booth had been nursing the last inch of beer in his bottle for about ten minutes.

"Ready to call it a night, Bones?" He had leaned slightly closer to her to be heard over the music that had been steadily increasing in volume as the night wore on.

She nodded. "Yes. However, Angela's my ride home."

He pushed back from the table. "Come on, then. I'll drive you."

She gave him a grateful look. "Thank you. That would be nice." She turned to Hodgins and Cam and bid them good night. Booth gave them a smile and half a wave before standing and offering Brennan a hand up. He waited while she collected her purse and light coat then let her walk a half step ahead of him before his hand fell to its usual spot at the small of her back.

Her skin tingled beneath the weight and warmth of his hand – warmth that was only tempered by the thin layer of cotton that separated him from her. She chalked it up to the alcohol, gave her head a tiny, clearing shake and the proceeded towards the front door. As she passed the dance floor Angela gave her a big grin and a hearty wave and then turned back to Sweets who was dancing rather strangely to the rhythmic thumping of the urban music.

At his SUV he opened and held her door until she was safely belted inside. As she waited for him to pull into traffic she regarded what she could see of the city. The monuments that were visible were all lit up and the skyline took on a curious candle-lit sort of glow. It was…rather pretty, and she found herself surprised that she'd never really thought of it that way before.

She studied his profile as he glanced back and forth between the rear and side view mirrors waiting for his chance to merge with traffic. He was, she noted objectively, and not for the first time, a very handsome man. Well structured, as she'd allow to pass through her lips when talking to or about him. But inside her head she could use subjective words like "handsome" without fear of judgment. Or, for that matter, without fear of loss of hearing resulting from one of Angela's girlish squeals of delight.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Booth mused aloud.

She realized she'd been lost in thought so long he'd set them on a path toward her building and she'd missed nearly eight blocks of the trip.

"I'm glad you were able to join us," she said rather than admit she'd been lost in thought. Though, she wasn't sure why admitting such a thing would be bad. She imagined the way she was feeling right then was what Angela would describe as "off-kilter".

Something soft and sexy was drifting out of the stereo speakers. She decided that with the alcohol coursing through her system it probably wasn't a good idea to embrace the soft and sexy feeling and started to reach for the volume knob.

Booth smacked the back of her hand lightly, "My car, my music." He was grinning, though, so she figured she hadn't offended him.

"That's fine. Just remember that the next time you come to my apartment and try to turn off my African tribal dancing music."

"That's not music, Bones, that's people shouting and beating drums."

"Well, I like it." But she didn't like the petulant little tone that slipped out when she said it. She sat quietly for a couple of minutes. "Booth, why don't you like it when people call you Seeley?"

He chuckled and she supposed it was because her question took him as much by surprise as it had her. She meant to ask him what "I love you…in a professional, atta-girl kind of way" meant. Then she figured that perhaps her brain knew better than her mouth when it came to talking to him after the alcohol and while the soft and sexy music was playing. "It's not that I dislike it, necessarily. But I joined the military when I was 18, after that at the FBI, I guess I'm just used to "Booth". People have been calling me "Booth" just as long as they called me "Seeley"."

"So, it's a professional thing, then?"

He seemed to consider that for a moment. "I guess so. Why?"

"Well, Rebecca and Cam both call you "Seeley". It seemed reasonable to deduce that was one of the ways you separated your personal life from your professional life."

"I hadn't really thought about it, but I guess you're right." They stopped at a red light and he looked over at her. His skin glowed crimson in the illumination of the traffic signal. "What's this about, Bones?"

"People call me "Dr. Brennan". Or, sometimes, "Bren". My dad and Russ call me "Tempe". But I never drew those lines – others did. It's a sign of respect in academia to address people using their titles. And then you, of course, call me "Bones". I don't mind that anymore." She felt her brow knit.

The light changed and he pressed on the gas pedal. "Yes." He drew the word out as if waiting for her come to her point.

"Anthropologically speaking, the naming of people is very important. But often throughout our lives we're given monikers we don't especially like or don't like the connotation in which they are used."

"Mhmm." He glanced over at her. "Are you trying to say you'd rather call me "Seeley"?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It sounds strange when I say it, doesn't it?" She tried it out. "Seeley." She paused then said it again letting the "S" linger on her tongue. "Seeley." Then, again letting her tongue rest lightly on the "L". "Seeley."

He chuckled and the sound was a little uncomfortable.

"What?"

"It doesn't sound strange when you say it." His voice was a little gruff.

She peeked over at him and saw a strange look flit across his features. She shrugged. "It's a nice name." She thought it would be an especially nice sounding name to say casually. Or, possibly, sexually. She let it bounce around in her head as a breathy moan then colored a slight pink when she wondered where the hell that thought came from. Damn alcohol and soft and sexy music.

Then somewhere along the way her brain disconnected from her mouth. "In certain situations it would sound much better than "Booth". In bed, for instance. I can't imagine someone calling you "Booth" in the throes of passion."

He coughed and shifted in his seat. "No one's ever called me "Booth" in bed, Bones."

"Sully used to call me "Tempe" in bed. It never sounded quite right. It was quite the mood killer."

He laughed outright at that. "What did he say when you told him that?"

"Oh, I never told him. I think he would have been offended."

"Since when do you worry about offending people?"

"Booth! I don't intentionally offend people."

"So what would you rather he'd have called you in bed? Temperance?"

"Well, not in that tone of voice, no. But, maybe. It's not a very sexy name, is it?" She tried it out in much the same way she had his. She tried it soft, low and slow. She tried hitting each syllable hard and with determination. But nothing sounded quite right. Then she shook her head. "There's not much hope for a name that means "self control"."

He laughed again. "You ever heard the saying, "it's not what you say but how you say it"? That probably applies here."

"It's possible."

He cleared his throat. "Any particular reason we're talking about the way our names sound in bed?"

"I think I got sidetracked."

" _I_  think what you got was one too many drinks tonight."

"Also possible."

The car came to a stop and she looked over to realize they were parked in front of her building. "This is the end of the line, Bones. Want me to walk you up?"

She gave him a scoffing sort of look. "I'm fairly certain I can get inside my apartment without assistance." She started to climb out of the car but turned back to him when one of her high-heeled feet was on the pavement. "But, thank you."

He gave her a soft smile. "You're welcome. Good night, Temperance." He winked as she pushed the door closed. She found that her hand was still raised in a wave and her answering smile was still tugging at her lips long after he'd merged back into the flow of traffic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and one more thing…There are parts of this chapter where even I wish we'd had Booth's perspective. I'll be really surprised if some of you don't feel the same. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I didn't write Booth's perspective of the conversation, I did write a little of his reaction to it. This is where the story starts earning its rating. If you're not up for the action this may be where you'd like to disembark. Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> ~Amara D'Angeli

_I slipped again, last night, out for drinks with all the squints. It's not really a big deal. I don't think she gets it when I do slip. It's almost like anything that comes out of my mouth is to be taken at face value, without question, and usually without understanding. My brain doesn't even really know what's going on and that's the most frustrating thing about it all. Usually you can trust your head but mine is making a game out of lying to me. Probably. Maybe._

_Then that stupid conversation in the truck on our way back to her place. Although, if I think about it, it wasn't really a stupid conversation. And I bet if Sweets had heard it he'd say it was "very telling". What it was was damn uncomfortable. How am I supposed to check my feelings if she insists on saying my name the way she did? I spent the better part of that trip just trying to keep my hormones under control so I wouldn't embarrass one of us. Likely me. She'd find some way to make the whole damn thing clinical and that would have just killed me. Maybe I_ should _have let her know what she was doing to me so she could have gone all scientist and ruined the thing right where it was. At least then I'd know where the hell I stood. Right now, I'm still just confused. Well, I'm confused when I'm not thinking about what_ I'd _call her in bed. When I'm thinking about that everything is crystal clear. But definitely not in the way Sweets would like._

_I was sort of under the impression he was trying to push us together. He always seemed to want to talk about our relationship and our interactions. He never seemed all that interested in work. And now, when I'm going in the direction he was shoving me, he's changing his tune._

Booth cast his laptop aside with a sneer. Sitting at home, alone, on a Saturday morning writing in a journal like a damned teenaged girl. He decided what he really needed was an hour on the firing range.

He hauled himself up off the couch and headed for his bathroom. After he'd shucked off his t-shirt and sweatpants he stood impatiently waiting for the water to warm. He stepped under the spray and hissed when the water that bordered on scalding met his skin. While he washed his hair he heard her voice, the one from the night before that was slightly muddled with alcohol, bounce around in his head while she tried out various intonations of his name; and then he heard her voice testing out the contours of her name. He wasn't sure when it happened but somewhere along the way her voice turned into his and the sound he heard within his traitorous mind was his voice moaning her name.

After that it was only a short hop to picturing himself hovering above her, using his tongue to trace patterns on her shoulder while he thrust into her over and over again. He let himself ruminate on the picture until he realized he was no longer using his hands to soap his body but was rather far along in bringing himself off while he played the triple-X film in his head.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned over his loss of control. But that didn't stop the swift strokes he was bestowing on the most impressive hard-on he'd sported in a long while. The movie in his head skipped ahead to scene two and suddenly he was picturing her straddling his hips. He'd had enough sex in his life for his brain to paint what was likely a pretty accurate picture of what it would look like watching his cock disappear over and over into her pink and swollen cu...No, he thought, stopping in the middle of all of that. He wouldn't think that word in reference to her. Nor any of the others, he reasoned, after he tried to think of a suitable descriptor to use in the narrative accompanying his private, pornographic fantasy. Wordless, he returned to the pictures anyway.

She was flushed pink and pretty, head thrown back, variations on his name being forced out of her throat upon the impact of their pelvises. She was dripping around him leaving a messy residue on their skin that made them stick together in that dirty and delicious way a good, sound fucking can produce. As he took in the details his body prepared to detonate with pleasure. He chose then, as the editor of that particular motion picture, to force the heroine's eyes to bore into his own when his fantasy version of her came just a split second before the actual version of him did.

He shuddered and gasped with the force of his orgasm. He thought about it as he shook the weakness from his legs and realized he couldn't remember the last time a solo mission had resulted in that kind of release. He felt some of the tension drain from his body and sighed in relief. If that's what it took to mind his P's and Q's around her until his brain settled down, well, he figured, there were worse medicines to have to swallow.

As he dried off he wondered why he wouldn't let himself think the words "cunt" or "pussy" in regards to her. They were euphemisms he was both familiar with and enjoyed in just the sort of setting he was picturing during his impromptu fantasy. He figured it had something to do with the fact that he had no idea how  _she_  felt about either of those words. And he'd be damned if he was going to initiate the necessary conversation to find out. Not unless he had a strong desire to spontaneously combust.

He sighed and shoved his legs into boxers and then jeans before rooting through his dresser for a t-shirt in a dark color cursing the need to do laundry at some point that weekend. He grabbed his service pistol off the night stand and then a case from the floor of his closet that held two personally owned weapons. He shoved his wallet into his back pocket and grabbed his key and cell phone on the way out the door.

Yeah, it was definitely a day for the shooting range.


	6. Chapter 6

By eight o'clock on Saturday morning Brennan was typically already up to her elbows in bones from Limbo. That particular Saturday morning, however, she was lying in bed staring at the ceiling wishing she had the opportunity to have the name conversation with Booth again. She felt like she'd had the perfect opportunity to  _really_  say something to him but had copped out at the last minute.

She should have told him: yes, she did want to call him Seeley. At least sometimes, anyway. Maybe when it was just them and they were sitting at her dining room table unwinding after a particularly harrowing case. When it would be nice to share a deeper connection with someone. When she had an opportunity to feel as if the relationship she shared with him was somehow special.

She'd always been a woman who was comfortable with sex and sexuality. But in the last couple of years she found she was missing having an emotional connection with someone. An emotional connection that existed outside the bonds of conventional friendship. She wanted, and she shuddered to even think it, a romantic connection with someone. How had that happened, she wondered. She'd always believed romance was best illustrated in the bedroom. After all, that was the purpose of sex.

But, then again, she reasoned, maybe not. Biologically, sex was a way to propagate the species. Physically, it was a marvelous release of tension. And, quite often, it was just down right fun. But to share an emotional connection with your sex partners, well, that was something she'd never been all that interested in exploring.

Then, Sully happened. She'd had genuine affection for him and he'd been good in bed. When he left it was sad, something of a blow to the ego, but her heart – if she were to channel Angela or Booth – hadn't taken a blow. She'd had relationships in the past. Michael was a sexual connection that turned into an emotional one. But still, she wasn't completely sure she could identify with the concept of being "in love". What did that feel like?

She knew true remorse and true sadness, even if the emotions themselves weren't all that logical. She remembered, vividly, what it felt like when her parents left, when her brother left, when Booth died, and then later when she'd stood by his side and heard the doctor say "tumor", "operable", and "risk" (even if "risk" was preceded by "fairly low").

Then Booth told her he loved her. And at first she wasn't sure what to take from that. She'd had only seconds to dwell before he'd made certain she understood it was in a professional sort of way. Professional. She was starting to think that was an ugly word – especially if it created the sorts of feelings surging through her as she laid there in bed. Why not, at the very least, in a platonic sort of way? They were friends, weren't they?

But there was that look in his eyes – the look he'd had right before he said it and then for those couple of panicked seconds after – that made her believe there was something larger, something greater, at work there. Platonic is greater, she thought to herself. And he never once mentioned being "in love" with her. An important distinction, if Angela was to be believed.

With what she knew of the concept of love – she loved her father, her brother, and Angela too – she could deduce that what she felt for Booth could be classified as "love". But how did one quantify the  _in_  part of the equation? What changed "I love you" to "I'm in love with you"?

She kicked her heels down into her mattress and then punched down into the bed clothes. It felt good so she did it again and again until thirty seconds later she realized what she was doing was throwing a temper tantrum. And Temperance Brennan did not let men reduce her to childish antics.

She threw the blankets off and away from her and stormed toward the kitchen. She set about making coffee and then decided she'd make some cinnamon rolls since clearly she wasn't going in to the Jeffersonian today. How could she possibly work when she couldn't even focus on something as simple as her relationship with Booth? Well, it had always been fairly simple before.

By the time her rolls came out of the oven the mess she'd made in their creation was a distant memory. Fifteen minutes later she was ensconced on her couch and had already plowed through a third of what she'd made and a half a pot of coffee. She stood abruptly, disgusted with herself. Men didn't make her throw temper tantrums and they certainly didn't make her wallow in creature comforts – even if the cinnamon rolls did turn out especially tasty.

After delivering the carafe of coffee and remaining rolls to the kitchen she changed out of her sleepwear and into a pair of leggings and a large black t-shirt with "FBI" emblazoned across the back. She slipped into her running shoes and went out to hit the pavement.

Not typically a runner she set an easy pace towards the Jeffersonian for lack of a better idea of route. She ran all the way to the Jeffersonian and kept going. When she finally stopped to catch her breath she found herself in front of the Royal Diner. She pushed the door open and went straight to the counter and took a seat leaving an empty space between herself and other patrons on either side. She quietly sipped her way through two glasses of water and tamped down every thought of Seeley Booth that tried to wind its way through her head.

She was making fantastic progress pushing him to the back of her mind when someone slid into the seat next to her. She glanced over and there he was.

"Fuck."

Oh my, had she said that out loud?


	7. Chapter 7

Booth's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline and he swiveled his chair slowly towards her.

"Did you just say…?" He couldn't believe what he thought he heard so he gestured a forward rolling motion with his left hand.

She shook her head, her eyes big and round, mouth in a small surprised "O". "No, no I didn't."

"'Cause it sounded like you just said—" he was abruptly cut off when she slapped her hand over his mouth. He reached up and grabbed her wrist and pried her palm from his lips. " _You're_  shushing  _me_? You're the one who said it!"

"I didn't mean to say that. Not that I don't use the word, but I generally don't when in a crowded restaurant."

He smirked at her, "So now that you've admitted you  _did_  say it, care to share with the class? I mean, I just sat down here minding my own business."

She huffed. "You know, you're making an awfully big deal out of one little word."

"It was a very effective word."

At that she had to laugh. "You startled me, is all."

He lifted one quizzical eyebrow in response. "I've startled you before. I can honestly say this was the first I've gotten that response. Something on your mind?" A slow blush bloomed across her cheeks. He smiled, feeling as if he'd won a prize. "Bones, you did have something on your mind, didn't you?" He poked her in the ribs teasingly. "Come on, what was it?"

She hesitated. "It's nothing. Like I said, you just startled me."

He stared at her long enough that she started to become squirm uncomfortably. He wasn't convinced. She rarely cursed and when she did it was with conviction and a little old-fashioned flair. The soft way she'd exhaled the word "fuck" was incongruous with the person he'd come to know. He swiveled back toward the counter and signaled to the waitress for a cup of coffee.

He was sneaking peeks of her out of the corner of his eye. She appeared to be concentrating very hard on the condensation on her glass. Finally she took what appeared to be a steadying breath and said, "I was thinking about you, Booth. Or, rather, I was trying  _not_  to think about you."

He looked over at her in surprise. "I've gotta say, Bones, that's not what I expected to hear." He kept his voice steady even as his insides subjected themselves to gravity and took leave somewhere around the soles of his feet. She was thinking about him? No, she said she was trying  _not_  to think about him. But didn't that mean she'd been thinking about him so much she had to make a real effort not to? If asked he would have sworn he could feel the pink, glow-y part of his brain from the brain scan pictures double in size. He shifted when he felt something much less fantastical double in size as well. What the hell was the matter with him? All she'd admitted to doing was thinking about him and he didn't even know in which way she meant.

She started drawing patterns in the water that was beaded up on the outside of her glass. "We've had some...strange conversations lately, don't you think?"

"That thing in the car was all you, Bones."

"Well, "that thing", as you put it, on the sidewalk was all  _you_ , Booth."

Heat crept up the back of his neck. He should have known it would come up eventually. "I explained—"

She cut him off. "Yes, you explained." He'd been looking everywhere but at her but the venom in her voice made his eyes snap to hers. "Four years, Booth. We've been partners for four years, the last several of which I would have called us friends."

"Me too." He didn't mind showing his confusion. Where was she going with this?

She dropped her voice as if suddenly remembering they were in public then continued, "But when you said "I love you"—"

He cut her off, dead in her tracks. He didn't want to have the conversation at all but if he had to have it he wasn't going to do it at the diner. "Come on, we'll talk about this but we'll do it somewhere private." He stood up, retrieved his wallet from his back pocket, threw a couple folded bills on the counter and put his hand on her elbow to propel her out of her seat and out of the diner.

He used the short trip between the building and his car to decide it wasn't yet time to tell her about Sweets' brain scan theory. What the hell was he going to tell her? He wasn't ready to do this. Not yet. Not while images of her naked and writhing above him were fresh in his head. Not while he couldn't trust the words that came out of his mouth not to be something that would count as a "slip". And certainly not while her clothing was slightly damp in all the best places, clinging to her body in the most alluring – "God Damn It!"

She looked at him, an utterly shocked expression on her face, "Booth, what is it?"

He felt stricken. He'd completely lost control of himself. Fantastic. Can't concentrate because she looks the way she does, can't concentrate because she wants to talk about what she wants to talk about, and can't concentrate enough to keep from blaspheming, what good was he now? "Sorry, Bones, stubbed my toe."

She regarded him as if she didn't believe him for a moment, and he couldn't blame her, but climbed into his truck without further comment on his outburst. He'd barely made it a block before she started in on him again. "So you told me you loved me."

He waited for her to continue but she didn't. "Yeah, I did. You told me you loved me to."

"In a professional way?" He knew she wasn't qualifying her own declaration but was clarifying his.

He sighed. If it were any other woman he'd know how to handle this situation. He'd know any other woman would be offended by the condition he'd placed on his statement. But with her he didn't know. She was usually quite pragmatic but occasionally she'd surprise him with her ability to react the same was any other emotional female might. "We have a professional relationship."

"But we're friends?" Another question. From the woman who was usually incredibly sure of everything produced by her brain.

"Of course."

"But you don't love me as a friend?"

He was quickly becoming just as confused as she appeared to be. "Huh?"

"Well, if we were friends it would stand to reason we'd love each other. I love Angela and it has nothing to do with the fact that we work together nor does it have any basis in romantic or sexual love. I'd say, then, that what I feel for her is a platonic love."

Finally he saw what she was driving at. He had offended her, just not in the way he thought. "Bones, we are friends. And the things I love about you aren't just professional things." He really wished he didn't need to be at least half focused on driving while they were having that conversation. Some things are better done face to face and he figured conversations about loving someone were one of those things. She seemed to relax back into her seat so he relaxed a little too.

He waited impatiently for her to speak and finally she said, "Okay."

The rest of the tension he'd been carrying since she brought it all back up in the diner drained from his body. An "okay" from Temperance Brennan was practically her researcher's stamp of approval.

"Okay?"

She nodded definitively. "Yes."

They were stopped at a light and he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. Uh-oh, he thought, just as she said, "I think I do want to call you Seeley."

Shit, he thought. "Fuck" is right.


	8. Chapter 8

"I think I do want to call you "Seeley"." She kept a watchful eye on him. He was behaving strangely – not that she was doing much better – and she couldn't figure out why. He was turning a curious shade of pink and she realized he was blushing. Why was he blushing? Was he uncomfortable with the idea? She hurried on. "Not all the time. But don't you think sometimes it would be okay?" He didn't say anything, he just concentrated on the pavement as it disappeared under the SUV. She was starting to lose her confidence in the idea. "I know you like to call me "Bones", but you could call me something else. If you wanted to." Who was the woman who'd taken control over her mouth? She studied his hands. He appeared to have a very tight grip on the steering wheel. Okay, that's it.

"Booth, what's the matter with you?" All of a sudden she sounded like herself again. Her words were hers. Her voice regained its regular pitch and tone.

He exhaled with great force and muttered his reply: "Strange conversations."

She decided, however, to believe his reaction meant he was adverse to her use of his given name. "If you really don't want me to call you "Seeley" then I won't. I just thought perhaps it would be a way for us differentiate between our professional time and our platonic time." She shrugged her shoulders to give him the impression she couldn't care less what the outcome of the conversation was.

She'd been looking at him intently since they'd gotten in the truck but she noticed then that his teeth were clenched and the muscles in his jaws were ticking. He ground out, "Would you please stop saying my name?"

It wasn't like him to be arbitrarily boorish. What the hell was wrong with him? She studied his face, no answers there. She took in the tension in the muscles of his chest, biceps and forearms. Evidence, but still no answers. His legs were bouncing, there was clearly tension in his thighs and – Whoa! What was that all about? "That" was a significant swelling in his genital region she couldn't account for. Evidence of something else, entirely, she was sure. And way more questions than answers.

She knew she was staring but she couldn't help herself. He was focused on the road so she figured it was safe to look. She studied his unexplainable erection and realized she could see not just a general swelling but the outline of his hardened penis as it stretched the supple fabric of his well-worn jeans. She felt an answering twinge in her own genital region but chalked it up to pure biology. The human body was designed to procreate. Her reaction was merely a response to external stimuli. It had nothing to do with him. No, nothing at all. She continued to study him and cataloged little details such as the fact he seemed to dress left.

She blew her breath out through pursed lips and he looked over at her. She snapped her eyes up to his before he could notice the direction of her gaze. "Booth—" she started but he took advantage of the time it took her to inhale to interrupt her.

"Bones, I'm not trying to be an ass but I really need you to not talk right now."

"But, I just—"

"I'm serious. Please." There was a slight desperation in his voice.

She wondered if the conversation about his name had anything to do with his arousal. She figured it was a long-shot, but he'd been acting so strange since they got in the car that she supposed anything was possible. She waited until he looked back at the road and fixed her eyes back on his intriguing predicament. She was a scientist after all, experimentation was natural. She lowered her voice until it was something resembling both her bedroom voice and a conciliatory tone. "I'm sorry, Booth, I'll be quiet." She watched the denim over his erection ripple as he appeared to increase in size. Interesting. Just by the sound of her voice?

She turned to look out the window. They spent a lot of time together and she'd never noticed any apparent arousal on his part before. She supposed it was only natural they'd find some sexual attraction between them from time to time. They were young, healthy, attractive people. They genuinely liked each other. She'd admit she'd been aroused by him on occasion. Especially when she went to long without a sexual partner. Could that be why he was reacting the way he was? Had he been without release so long the smallest of stimuli could have such an effect?

She glanced down at herself. She knew she had an attractive body. Her sweat dampened clothing was finally nearly dry but the fabric of her t-shirt now mimicked her shape quite clearly. If she were fair she'd say it clung. Had he perused her body and felt embarrassed?

She sensed movement out of the corner of her eye and she peered over at him. He must have seen the slight turn of her head because she caught a flash of his left hand as it left his lap and regained its post on the steering wheel. Had he been touching himself while she was sitting just two feet away? That twinge was back. Good grief but she needed to get out of the SUV.

As if there were a God to answer prayers they pulled up in front of her apartment building. She was shutting the passenger door behind her before he'd even killed the engine. The fresh air felt so good against her now heated skin. Ah, sweet perspective, she thought, grateful to have put a little space between her body and his. But before she could completely relax he was next to her and she fell into step as they made their way into her building and up to her apartment.

She couldn't remember ever having spent so much silent time with him. One or both of them was almost always talking. She felt a need to fill the silence but she'd promised him quiet and she was determined not to talk to him until he was ready.

She unlocked her apartment door and preceded him inside. He mumbled something about the bathroom and set off down the hall. She busied herself in the kitchen and found she'd prepared a pitcher of ice tea, starting from tea-bag state, and he still hadn't returned.

What on earth was he doing in there?


	9. Chapter 9

He closed the bathroom door with more force than was needed. He paced back and forth in the larger-than-truly-necessary room trying to regain a little control before he did what he really wanted to do right there in her bathroom. But when his arousal didn't abate he sighed in defeat deciding it was better to take himself in hand in her bathroom than it was to walk around her apartment sporting wood. A bottle of Vaseline Intensive Care lotion sat on the counter next to the sink, mocking him. He smirked as he pushed his pants and boxers down around his thighs then pumped a generous portion of the lotion into his hand.

He was hard. Hard like he was during his morning shower three hours previous. Just recalling the sound of her voice in the car made him shudder with need. Things were starting to lean towards the ridiculous. He should be able to control himself around his partner. And, if he were being honest, the problems he'd been facing today had very little to do with love and a lot more to do with lust than he was truly comfortable with. Maybe his head really was screwed up.

He'd always found her attractive. He'd even found himself hiding the occasional erection she'd been responsible for. But nothing had ever happened like what happened in the diner and then later in the car. He usually had pretty good self-control. He realized then that he'd been standing in the middle of her bathroom, dick slathered with lotion and held tightly in his hand, ruminating on the arousal she could produce. He should really be dealing with the problem so he could get the hell back out there and act like nothing was going on.

He gave himself a tug and had to bite back a groan. The last thing he needed was her on the other side of the door pestering him with questions about his general health. No, he didn't need that. But thoughts of her voice brought forth the one little sentence from the car that nearly did him in: "I'm sorry, Booth, I'll be quiet". Where the hell did she get that voice? In the car, as soon as she said it, he thought about exactly how he could make sure she  _was_  quiet. It involved her mouth and his dick and absolutely no space between the two.

 _That_  mental picture was all it took and suddenly his hand was gliding up and down his length with practiced precision designed to bring him off in as little time as possible. He'd been so aroused for so long, though, that the pleasure bordered much closer to pain than he usually cared for. His eyes fell closed as he succumbed to the fantasy that was trying, desperately, to roll through his mind.

She was on her knees in front of him dressed in just the FBI t-shirt she was wearing earlier having discarding the leggings somewhere along the way. Her hair was still gathered up in the ponytail he'd last seen her sporting. She looked like a college co-ed from his vantage point and it sparked something a little wild within him. She was holding onto his thighs and breathing heavily, the pants of hot air washing gloriously over his aching groin.

He tilted his hips toward her until the head of his impossibly hard cock nudged against her lips. They both knew what he wanted; there was no reason to be coy. She parted her lips just enough to flick her tongue against the sensitive slit at his tip. He shuddered so she did it again wiggling her tongue inside him just the tiniest bit. He couldn't bite back his groan. Despite the good manners he'd been taught over the years his hands fell to the back of her head, one hand above the band that held her hair and the other threaded through the loosening locks below. He resisted the urge, though, to thrust in to her hot, wet mouth.

She wiggled a little, while she continued to tease him, until her knees were slightly further apart than his feet. One of her hands toyed with the coarse hairs sprinkled across his thigh while the other dipped between her legs. The hem of her t-shirt was caught between her belly and her wrist and two of her fingertips disappeared between the soft folds of flesh that hid the parts of her he desperately wanted access to. He felt her shudder when she came in contact with her clit. Her jaw relaxed, just a tad, and he took the opportunity to press softly into her mouth. Her tongue curled slightly as she created a velvet cradle for him.

They both stilled and for a moment she just breathed around him. Hot air from her lungs wafted out around him. She sighed a little but with her full mouth the sound was sexily garbled. With one deep breath through her nose she sealed her lips around him and pushed forward until he could feel the place where her tongue dipped down into her throat. With skill he imagined only the fantasy version of her could possess, she began to roll her tongue, slowly, and the effect was intense.

She withdrew slowly until just his head remained nestled between her lips and then she sunk back toward him. She set an excruciatingly languid pace as she turned her head one direction then the other mapping the contours of his cock with first the tip then the flat of her tongue. He was torn between watching his dick disappear into her mouth only to reappear slicked with her saliva and watching her fingers trace tiny circles around the collection of nerves nestled between her incredibly smooth and incredibly plump, pink...lips, he thought before he removed himself from his fantasy.

Having to choose one vision or the other he chose to concentrate on her mouth. She was still taking her sweet time and it was the best kind of torture but he needed more. He gave an experimental thrust just as she reached the top of her stroke and plunged back into the waiting cavern of her mouth. Evidently that's what she'd been waiting for because she started sucking on him with determination. She worked him until he felt himself begin to throb then, abruptly, she stopped.

She threw her head back and let the weight of it rest in his hands. Her eyes slammed closed and a long throaty moan tore from her throat. She angled her body back away from him until he had to stretch to support her head but what she created was the most incredible view of her hand between her legs. She removed her second hand from his thigh and pushed her middle and ring fingers as far into herself as she could from her somewhat awkward angle. The other hand, the hand that had been drawing tight little circles around her clit, abandoned its orbital path and took up a vigorous side to side motion – the snare to the base line of the fingers she was using to fuck herself.

She was so hot like that, body tense with anticipation. Her nipples were pebbled underneath the thin, black cotton of her shirt. She shifted in such a way that the fabric rubbed against them and he was tantalized by the subtle movement underneath the cloth. But the sight below – she was so pink and so fucking wet. He could see the moisture clinging to whatever skin was near and he licked his lips.

She started to lean back toward him but he was impatient. He used the hands on the back of her head to guide her movements, to force himself deeper into her mouth, and down her throat, than he'd been yet. Apparently that was the right choice because she cried out in pleasure. Her body seemed to be caught up with his and neither could suppress their groans and moans of pleasure. She tongued him then caressed him with the silk of her lips.

With the slick hand she'd had buried deep inside her she began to caress his balls. He could feel her juices clinging to him and it was more than he could take. He pulled himself out of her mouth and hauled to her feet using the hand that was cradling the base of her skull. With one hand he pulled her t-shirt up to expose her smooth, white stomach and with the other he began jacking himself with a fervor he'd never used before. Within moments his hips jerked and his cock jumped and he spurted stream after sticky, white steam onto her creamy skin.

He took a moment to collect himself and the fantasy of her faded. He'd come, all right, all over her bathroom wall. With a slightly-less-than-truly-satisfied sigh he wiped his spending off her wall with a water-moistened tissue. He readjusted his clothing until there wasn't any sign of what he'd just done in her bathroom and washed his hands.

When he stepped out into the hall she was standing at the other end, a dishtowel in her hands and a look of utter surprise on her face. In that moment he was certain the moans he'd been making hadn't been just in the confines of his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

He'd been gone so long Brennan was starting worry something was really wrong with him. She grabbed a dishtowel off the counter and dried her hands as she started toward the hall that led toward the bedrooms and guest bathroom. When she entered the hall she heard a solid moan from the bathroom. Her first instinct was to go to him, to find out if he needed assistance. But another moan quickly followed and she realized the sound was decidedly…sexual. She froze in her tracks. Was he...? He was… Oh, God, he was masturbating in there.

She smiled a little; at least his was taking care of his, as she termed it before, predicament. And besides, she considered, it's not like she'd never masturbated in  _his_  bathroom. Yes, there was that one time after the conversation regarding breaking the laws of physics, followed by a ride home in his SUV when something – she's sure he told her what – caused the vehicle to vibrate significantly more than normal, and that new cologne he was wearing that affected her in the most visceral way. Yes, she'd excused herself to his bathroom and relieved the tension that insisted on coursing through her body. Yes, she'd come – with particular force considering she was only partaking in manual stimulation – sprawled awkwardly on his floor, head thrashing about in most undignified manner across the linoleum.

She knew she should afford him a little privacy but she couldn't seem to move from her voyeuristic place at the head of her hall. He was, she observed with pleasure, quite vocal. When the moans faded to harsh panting breaths she, again, realized it would be better to move out of the vicinity. She heard him knocking about inside the bathroom and knew he'd be coming out in just a few moments. She willed her feet to move but still she was trapped. Trapped in the hazy place between heavy lust and slight embarrassment. And then, before she was prepared, there he was. His eyes met hers and mortification flashed across his face.

What was she supposed to say when they both knew she'd heard him in there? "I, uh, made iced tea. Would you like a glass?"

He regarded her warily. She couldn't even imagine what he was thinking. Was he angry she'd eavesdropped on what was clearly a private moment? Finally, he spoke. "Sure, Bones. I could really use something refreshing." He smiled in a self-deprecating manor, a slightly sheepish look crinkled flatteringly around his eyes.

And she laughed. A full out belly laugh. He started laughing too and they were drawn to each other in the hall as if suddenly made of magnets. "I'm guessing that whatever was bothering you in the car has been resolved."

"You could say that."

"I'm glad. I have to say I don't like it when you demand I don't talk."

"Normally, I like listening to you talk."

"So  _now_  can we have that talk about the strange conversations we've been having lately? It seems we've got another one to add to the list."

Abruptly he gathered her into a hug. Considering how he'd largely been avoiding touching her, she was elated. But since she was still floating in foggy arousal she avoiding relaxing into him completely. But he felt so good and he smelled so good – did she detect the faint smell of gunpowder? – she reveled in him just a bit. "I know things have been…strange lately," he rumbled into her ear, "but it'll get better. I promise."

Impulsively she planted a kiss on his cheek then took a step away from him but grabbed his hand. She wondered, for just a moment, if it was the hand he'd used when he'd stroked himself and permitted herself one last shiver of arousal. Then, she turned and pulled him, slightly, asking him to follow her, "We'll have some tea and talk, then."

She'd poured them both a glass while he waited on the couch. By the time she'd joined him he had removed his shoes and propped his stocking feet up on her coffee table. She shot him a disapproving glance but relented at the slightly pleading look he gave her in return.

"So, where do you want to start," he'd asked, glass in hand and already half emptied.

"I'd like to start with your aversion to my use of your first name."

He nodded as if he'd half expected that. "We can do that."

"You indicated the use of your first name was something of a way to separate your personal life from your professional life. I know our relationship is rooted in the professional, but we've agreed that we're friends as well. Why don't you want me to use your name?"

"I don't have a problem with it. Especially, as you say, in certain situations."

"But today, in the car—"

"Today in the car doesn't have anything to do with usually."

"Then…" She trailed off as if she expected him to cut her off like he had a moment before.

He exhaled loudly. "Bones, if you want to call me Seeley, call me Seeley. Do it whenever you damn well please in front of whoever you want to. We're friends. It's okay if people know that. I'm not," he paused and considered his words, "you don't think this has anything to do with me being ashamed of you, do you?"

"No! I didn't think that. I'm not sure what I thought, but it wasn't that."

"Good. 'Cause you're great, Bones, really. I'm glad I've got you in my life."

She smiled at him, "I'm glad I've got you in my life, too." She felt warm and flush and cataloged that statement along with the few other one liners over the years he'd really touched her with.

He plowed on, "Today, in the car, that was just then. I've been," he seemed to search for his words, "a little on edge today."

She chuckled a little. "I'd noticed."

He chuckled too. "I know."

She inclined her head toward the bathroom. "Do you want to talk about—"

"No!" The look of mortification was back.

She raised her empty hand in the universal symbol for "surrender". "Okay, we don't have to." But she thought it might help if he knew she'd done the same so she said, "But if it helps, I've masturbated in your bathroom too."

"Geez, Bones, that's talking about it!" Then he seemed to catch up with the conversation. "Wait, you mean you," he gestured a little wildly, "in my bathroom? When?"

"I can't remember the exact date, but it was after that case with the pony play people."

"You mean that got you—"

It was her turn to cut him off with a sharp, "No!" She softened her voice. "It wasn't the pony play." She fidgeted nervously wondering how much to reveal. But, in for a penny in for a pound. "Afterwards, when we were at the diner, you told me about making love and breaking the laws of physics. And that was when the SUV was…" she trailed off at his laughter.

"Okay. You don't have to go on, I remember."

"So, it's really okay if I call you Seeley?"

He sobered and looked her square in the eyes. "Yeah, it's okay." He smiled a little. "What exactly did you have in mind for the use of my first name?"

"Well, I think you made a convincing point about separating your professional life from your personal life. And I think it would be very unprofessional for me to call you Seeley in a working situation. But I thought, maybe, when it was just us, like when we were here…"

"Or at my place…"

"Or at the diner…"

"Or other places." His voice held a hint of something she couldn't quite identify.

"Or maybe other places," she agreed. "But not at work."

"Okay. Not at work."

"And if you don't like "Temperance"—"

"I never said I didn't like your name." He looked genuinely confused.

"But "Bones"…"

He laughed quietly. "I did it to piss you off. You hated it, you hated me and I wanted to push your buttons. You deserved, back then, for me to call you "Doctor Brennan". Hell, you deserve it now. But you're my "Bones", Bones. It just sort of feels right now."

She felt a little unsure of herself, "But it's what you call me professionally."

"And you want me to call you something personally."

"Yes, I think so."

"I like "Temperance"," he said simply. "Or, I can..."Tempe"…if you'd rather—"

"I hate "Tempe"," she confessed in a conspiratorial rush.

He laughed again, loud and boisterous as if the tension had finally really lifted. "So not "Tempe"."

"Definitely not," she agreed. They shared a smile. "So what's next?"

"Well, I've got a question for you about common colloquialisms…"


	11. Chapter 11

He'd decided, for simplicity's sake, to count everything that happened from the moment he ran into her at the diner until he'd said "my Bones" as one slip. And really, that only made three. Three in front of her. He'd lost count of how many it was in his head. And even if she seemed oblivious to his little verbal declarations of possession and endearment there was no way either of them could pretend what happened in her bathroom didn't happen.

But thinking about what he'd done in her bathroom only made him think about what she'd confessed to doing in his. The effect on his body was instantaneous and he shifted in a way he was sure was becoming telling for her. She confirmed his suspicions when she said, "Booth, you seem to be …on edge…again." While he wanted to groan in frustration he was grateful for her use of subtlety – something she rarely engaged in.

"Sorry, Bones. Don't seem to have much control over it today."

"Does this have something to do with "common colloquialisms"?" She looked genuinely confused and he admitted to himself the look was adorable on her.

He chuckled a little. "In a way, yes." He scrubbed a hand through the hair at the back of his neck and wondered exactly how he was supposed to start this conversation. "So, you're pretty open when it comes to, well, everything now that I think about it."

"There's very little I couldn't be persuaded to talk with you about."

"Right. Well, you know, in the bathroom, that had something to do with you, right?"

"Considering I was the only other person in the car it's logical to think I had  _something_  to do with your arousal. However, that's not your usual reaction to me so it's likely there were other factors involved."

"Yeah, well, it's probably more to do with you than you realize, but it's my fault."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"There was a thing, this morning, while I was in the shower. And you… I mean, I…"

Sudden realization dawned on her face. "You were fantasizing about me. This morning in the shower?"

He couldn't quite bring himself to admit it so he chose just not to deny it.

"Ah." She nodded thoughtfully. "And then again when you were in my bathroom?"

He nodded.

"And somehow all of this has to do with "common colloquialisms"?"

"Right."

"Would you please elaborate?"

"You think we could crack a bottle of wine or something?"

She smiled as if indulging him but got up and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later she returned with two Bordeaux glasses and a bottle of Cabernet she'd already uncorked. She delicately balanced both glasses between the fingers of one hand and poured the wine, handing him a glass before filling the other. She waited, impatiently, while he took a sip then said, "Ready now?"

He had to laugh at the way she was indulging him. "Okay, Bones. It came up, while I was thinking about you—"

"Fantasizing," she cut in.

He colored a little across the cheekbones and over his nose. "Yeah. Anyway, I had to stop because I wasn't sure what words would offend you."

"I'm rarely offended by words. All things have their context."

"Yeah, well, some of the words I was thinking are generally considered pretty offensive."

The conversation was not going well, he thought. Besides the fact the wine hadn't yet started to do its job his body was anticipating what it would sound like to hear, rolling off her tongue, the words that were sure to come up during the conversation. She looked at him as if he was slightly crazy and he figured, to her, he probably was. He was likely going to get a lecture on the anthropological significance of each word that was brought up.

"You're talking about words that name and describe the genitalia and the act of sexual intercourse?

He felt himself blush further and wondered how he was going to make it through the exchange. "Yes."

"You were wondering specifically…" she led.

He decided to start with the lesser of the evils. "Okay, well, when I think about a woman's…" he gestured vaguely in the direction of her chest, "anyway, what do you call them?"

"My breasts?" An amused smile played across her face and she waited for his nod before she continued. "Well, I usually call them "breasts". But you're more concerned about which words I'd find offensive, right?"

He really thought his face was going to be permanently blushed by the end of the conversation. "Right."

"Why don't you tell me which words you have in mind then I'll tell you how I feel about them?"

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. How was he going to get out of that without offending her? "I want to start by saying the words I'm gonna say aren't necessarily ones I'd use."

"Caveat accepted. Please continue."

"Boobs? Tits? Titties?" He spit the words out as if he were going to get slapped for saying them.

She screwed up her face. "Titties," she questioned. I don't like that. I don't think it offends me. Use it in a sentence."

"This isn't a spelling bee, Bones!"

"I'm humoring you, the least you could do is humor me."

"Fine." He grumbled a little and swallowed two large gulps of wine. "She has a nice set of titties."

"How am I supposed to know whether or not it offends me if it's not used in reference to me?"

He blew out an exasperated breath. "Fine, Bones,  _you_  have a nice set of titties."

"How could I find that offensive? I do, in fact, have nice breasts. It doesn't matter what you call them."

He tried to keep the sparkle out of his eyes but he's not sure he succeeded. She  _did_  have a nice set. "Not the idea, the word. Do you find the word offensive?"

"I don't like the word." She shook her head with a look of distaste. "Really the only one that sounds any good at all is "breasts".

"You don't think it's kind of a mood killer?" He affected a snobbish tone. "My, don't you have lovely breasts?"

She laughed. "Okay, so maybe it's not the sexiest word. But it's certainly better than "tits". "Boobs" isn't so bad. But I'd never tell Angela her tits looked good in a blouse."

His eyes went wide. "What does Angela have to do with this?"

"I'm just saying, if I were to use a word to talk about a woman's breasts I'd say "breasts"."

He drained his glass and refilled it. He was going to need a lot more wine to make it through the afternoon. While he was drinking she asked, "Aren't you the one who said something about it not being what you said but how you said it? I'm sure, if properly motivated, you could make the word "breasts" sound sexy." He fought to keep his wine traveling it's path down his throat rather than spitting it all over her and her couch. "Besides, how often does it come up during sex anyway?" She affected a breathy, aroused tone. "Oh, touch my breasts." Then, in her usual voice said, "No. I'd be more likely to tell a man to touch my nipples. They're much more sensitive."

He groaned and pushed away the sudden image of rolling her nipples across the palm of his hand. "I think you're missing the point of the conversation, Bones."

"Right. Offensive words. I'm not offended by any of those words. Next?"

He cleared his throat and pointed toward her lap, "What about that?"

"That?" She laughed at him. "If you can't even say the clinical words you're likely in worse shape than I, Booth."

"I'm not saying that word."

"What word? Vagina?" He could see it in her face – she was enjoying tormenting him.

Turn about is fair play, he thought, and mustered up every ounce of courage he could. "Pussy, Bones."

"Pussy," she said, "really?"

His eyes went wide as she tested the word. "Yeah."

"Say it again."

"What? Why?"

"I'm trying to find out if it offends me."

"Are you going to ask me to use it in a sentence?" He threw her a smirk.

"Come on, Booth."

"Pussy."

"What are my other choices?"

"I don't think you're going to like your other choices." She quirked an eyebrow at him and he relented. "Box. Slit. Cunt."

He watched as her eyes glassed over slightly. Could all the talk be getting to her? He had to admit he'd long since surpassed being comfortable in his jeans. Then she shook her head, "No, none of those offend me."

"Really? Not even "cunt"?" He lowered his voice a little the second time he said he the word and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder for his mother who was sure to slap him.

"It didn't start out as a derogatory term, Booth. It's a construct of our society. Personally I have no problem with the word, though I'll admit it doesn't have as pleasing a sound as "pussy"."

He watched her mouth as she said the word and had to fight the urge to ask her to ask him to use it in a sentence. Why had he passed up the opportunity before?

"And "slit". I think I like that. I hadn't heard it used in that context before."

He looked at her with surprise. "It's a little more slang than the other. The other's more socially accepted as the 'right word'".

"Yes, I've heard it before, Booth. I've been sexually active for a number of years. It stands to reason I would have had sex with a man at some point who'd used the word "pussy" in reference to my vagina."

"Great, Bones. Moving right along. What about—"

She sighed when he started to gesture toward his own lap, "Oh for crying out loud, Booth, it's a penis. Surely you can say the word."

She sounded exasperated but most of the articulation was lost to him as he concentrated on her lips wrapping themselves around the word. Then she surprised him by piping up without his prodding. "Though, I think I prefer the word "cock" in a sexual setting."

"Say that again." He realized his voice sounded husky but he couldn't suffer through the whole conversation without getting a little something out of it.

"It stands to reason it would turn you on to hear a woman use sexualized terms for your penis. I like "cock" but perhaps you prefer "dick"?"

"Say it again," he practically growled at her.

He saw a teasing glint in her eyes and she dropped her own voice. "Cock. As in something one sucks, something one fucks." Were his eyes crossing? Surely she didn't just say that. Hoo-boy she just turned the tables on him. She continued, "And before you ask, no, the word "fuck" doesn't offend me – not in any context. Nor does the phrase "going down". And yes, when having sex, I say "clit" as well as "clitoris"."

She shifted until he could almost feel her body heat. "I'm not easily offended and I find the bedroom is no place to bring puritanical sensibilities of "right" and "wrong". Most anything said during sex is fine with me. Furthermore, I think this entire conversation was merely an excuse to hear me say the words you find stimulating." She glanced down into his lap. "And you do appear to be stimulated, Booth. In truth, I found the words rather stimulating myself."

She drained her glass and stood so he followed her lead. "You're over stimulated and you were we ran into each other this morning. Perhaps you should talk to Sweets about this." She walked him towards the door and relieved him of his wine glass. "I've got to get to work on my book, but it was nice seeing you today."

"Are you upset?" He couldn't figure out why she was all of a sudden so anxious to get him out of her apartment.

"No. Why would I be upset?"

"Well, we sort of crossed a line here today."

"You're the only one who's ever been overly concerned with lines. Perhaps that is something else you should talk to Sweets about." He stood just over her threshold by then giving what he was sure was his best impression of a gold fish. He was in total control of that conversation right up until the end. How did that happen? Had she suckered him in? Evidently he missed her "goodbye" because suddenly he was looking at the outside of her door.

As he collected himself enough to walk away he was sure he heard raucous laughter from within her apartment. He wanted to be mad, or maybe confused, but truthfully he just found himself smiling. By the time he made it to his car he was whistling.

He figured counting slips was becoming pointless maybe it was time to start looking for the fall.


	12. Chapter 12

She barely contained her laughter until her door closed in his face. That was quite fun, she thought. And while his reaction to the conversation was quite apparent she knew her own would have been slightly harder to gauge. And affected she was. She thought about the sound of his voice as he said "pussy" – slightly rough but slightly reverent. She wondered if that was his usual reaction to the word or if the reverence had something to do with the fact that while they were speaking in generalizations they were clearly speaking about hers. Hers that was feeling oddly neglected at that particular moment.

She thought back to the conversation they'd had in his car earlier that day. He did love her. And a man like Booth wouldn't throw the word around carelessly. In that moment on the sidewalk he must have thought he'd revealed too much. She was starting to get the notion that the word "love" in the way they'd been speaking of it in the past couple of days had very little to do with the way she loved Angela and had practically nothing to do with anything resembling an "atta-girl kind of way". No, she didn't find herself randomly aroused in Angela's company the way he seemed to be finding himself aroused in her company.

Sexual attraction was commonly considered an indicator of romantic love, especially when taken apart from its purely biological implications. She had to consider his behavior today evidence of interest that strayed beyond the constructs of a professional or platonic relationship.

She sat back down on her couch and poured herself another class of the lovely, fat Cabernet. She returned to her earlier thoughts on the nature of love. Clearly he loved her. He'd said it, he meant it. She loved him. She was quickly finding it easy to admit she wanted him and she had every reason to believe, now more than ever, he wanted her as well. Did the combination of sex and love together turn "love" to "in love"? She didn't figure it did. There had to be something more if people were always making such a big deal out of it. She was certain people didn't understand the chemistry of it.

Scientifically, love really was a chemical process that had nothing to do with emotions. As a matter of fact, emotions too were triggered by chemical processes. That's the reality of it. People didn't understand how the process actually worked – they were defining it as the elusive concept of love, she realized. Just because she wasn't comfortable with gauzy notions rooted in ephemeral feelings didn't mean she didn't have a complete understanding of the actual biological processes. And, if that were the case, didn't that mean she really knew what love was? Perhaps better than other people?

But she still didn't believe humans were designed for monogamy. It appeared to be important to Booth, though, and if she wanted to engage in sexual intercourse with Booth – and she was quickly coming to believe she did – then perhaps she needed to adhere to the constructs society has placed on relationships. Perhaps that was why everyone did.

But Booth appeared to be running scared. Clearly he felt something for her but she was under the impression that, while he'd talked with her about it enough to keep her from feeling hurt, he'd yet to really define the whole situation for himself.

She felt like she was missing something important – some of the societal indicators of love, maybe. She could put all the science on the page she wanted. She could mark things off a check list but at the end of the day she was missing a very important piece of the puzzle. Maybe it was time to talk to Angela.

An hour and a half later both women were sitting on Brennan's couch holding glasses of a second bottle of wine and Brennan had just finished relating what happened since she and Booth had left their friends at the bar the night before.

"So he was right there in your bathroom doing a little yank-n-wank? Sweetie, that's hot."

Brennan smiled and nodded in agreement. "Yes, it was."

"And he made a joke out of it?"

"He was embarrassed, definitely embarrassed. But he seemed to feel much better after I told him I'd done the same thing in his bathroom."

Angela shook her head in disbelief. "Only you, Bren, would tease a guy so bad and not realize what you were doing."

"I didn't tell him to tease him."

"Honey, I guarantee you it's the only thing he's been thinking about since you told him. Well, that and the conversation you two just had. I can't believe he admitted to fantasizing about you. I really thought he was way too repressed for that."

"I have to admit I was surprised as well. But now I'm confused."

"Because he's told you he loves you." Angela didn't pose it as a question. Brennan figured Angela knew her well enough to know where her roadblocks were.

"Yes. So I'm curious to know how to tell the difference between loving him – which I know I do – and being  _in_ love with him."

Angela sighed, "Oh, Bren, it's not that easy. This isn't some fairy tale story where I tell you all the heart-song about being in love and all of a sudden you realize you're in love with the prince. It's not that neat and tidy and certainly not that scientific."

"But I just want to know how you describe being in love. I need to know what I'm feeling." She knew her voice had taken on a desperate quality and she was glad it was only Angela there to witness it.

"I want to tell you, but it's different for everybody. Being in love with Jack felt different than being in love with Roxie. Being in love with  _Roxie_  was different than being in love with Roxie. There's not a standard set of feelings involved."

She sagged in defeat. "But Ange, Booth and I speak two different languages. How am I going to communicate my feelings to him when I'm not even sure what they are?"

"You're going to have to do a little soul searching." Angela leaned back into the couch. "And maybe you just need to jump his sexy little ass. You know, get your point across. There's no use denying the sexual tension anymore. I mean, without saying the words you've both pretty much admitted you're on each other's minds."

Brennan felt the urge to say the words out loud and she supposed Angela was as safe a person as any to say them to. She whispered, "I want to sleep with Booth."

"You can say that with conviction, Sweetie."

She tried it out again, louder. "I want to sleep with Booth."

"Finally! A little forward progress. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"I guess I'm going to try to seduce him."

"Try? Honey, the cat's out of the bag. I don't think it's going to take much effort."

"So, I'll seduce Booth."

"Yeah. But you know you're eventually going to have to talk to him about how you feel."

"It would be easier if I knew how he felt."

"I'm pretty sure he's trying to work through that himself. Clearly things are changing. It's up to the two of you to decide how."

Brennan let a slow smile bloom across her face. "I'm going to seduce Booth."


	13. Chapter 13

_I'm an idiot. Things with Bones got way out of hand today. I acted like a sex starved teenager every time she was within smelling distance and I shot one off in her bathroom, for God's sake. The way I acted today can't even be called a slip. It was like an avalanche. But she was into it. Wasn't she?_

_She told me to talk to Sweets. Yeah, right. Not about the fact that I have a perpetual hard-on when in her presence. And not about the line. I don't feel like having_ another  _conversation with him about the state of my brain. What I'm feeling for her, I can't classify it. I love her. But what's going on right now is low-down, hot, dirty, nasty ol' lust. I love her. She's my partner – I'd do anything I could to keep her safe. I love her – she's my friend – I'd try my best to make her happy. I love her – but I can't say with any sort of certainty that I love her in the way I think do. I think I'm in love with her. But is it just a product of the coma? I can't say it's not. And it's killing me._

_When I first woke up I would have sworn I was in love with her. But every day, every half day, every hour it seems I'm getting more lust than love on the brain. So I can't take this further, right? If the whole thing is devolving to all-sex-all-the-time I can't just declare my ever lasting love in hopes it'll get her into bed. I want to sleep with her. I really, really want to sleep with her. And, truthfully, if I just gave it over to her like that we'd probably sleep together and that would be the end of it for her. She doesn't equate sex with love. But could I ever look at her again? And I won't lie to her; make her believe I love her just to sleep with her. Because it seems more and more like she might be open to the idea of love even if she can't quite define what it is._

_She all but told me to take my line and go fuck myself this afternoon. Or did she tell me to take the line and go fuck_ her _this afternoon? It seemed like she was telling me she thought the line was a waste of time._

An abrupt knock on the door shattered his concentration. "Knock, knock, Booth. Open up!" Booth was confused. That sounded like…Hodgins? What the hell? He pulled the front door open and discovered he was right. Hodgins. But why?

"What are you doing here?"

"What? Not happy to see me? Dude, our women are plotting."

"Our women?"

"Angie and Dr. B, Man."

"Last time I checked neither one could be considered "our women"."

"That's why I'm here. Things between Angie and me, who knows, right? But you and Dr. B still have a chance."

"And they're plotting?" He chose to drop the "our women" thing and grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge.

"They have to be plotting. Angela took off from the lab like her ass was on fire. Thanks," he said as he accepted the opened bottle.

"And she was going to Brennan's?"

"Yeah. And, Dude, she looked like it was Christmas and puppies were free."

He knew he had to play this cool. "She, uh, say anything?" He took what he hoped appeared to be a casual sip of his beer but his insides were rolling.

"Just that she probably wouldn't be back."

"What could they possibly have to plot?"

"Your demise, Man, your demise."

"What?" He was well and truly confused. Why would Bones and Angela be planning his demise? Oh no. Bones told Angela about what happened earlier in the day. What Bones couldn't devise as torture Angela certainly could. "Oh, no."

"Oh no, what?"

He slumped down on the couch and buried his head in his hands. "No, no, no. Angela's going to flay me. Then, she's gonna teach Bones how to do it and watch. She'll let me heal then she'll sell tickets to the repeat performance."

"What did you do?"

"It's not that I've done something wrong, necessarily, but Ange's going to run with this. I'll never make it out alive."

"What did you do?"

"Bones I could handle. She probably doesn't completely realize what I've done. Angela's going to  _explain_  it to her. I'm in serious trouble."

"Again I ask, what did you do?"

Twenty minutes later he'd related the entirety of story that wasn't X-rated. "Dude, you're toast," Hodgins said.

"You think I don't know that?"

"You're so getting laid."

"You just said I was toast." Could Hodgins be any more confusing?

"You know Angie's going to convince Dr. B to just sleep with you already. Man, the tension's reached its pinnacle."

"You think?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Yeah." He let a sly smile stretch across his face. "The tension's reached its pinnacle." He nodded sagely and took a long pull off his beer. Then reality hit. "Shit. Sweets is gonna kill me."

"What does Sweets have to do with this?"

"Aw, it's this brain scan thing. Before the coma the love parts of my brain weren't glowing pink. During the coma they were and then three days after they still were. Pink means love. I wasn't in love before the coma, before Bones' story and my dream, but I was in love after and now Sweets is convinced what I feel for Bones is just a lingering symptom of the coma."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what I think. That's what I've been trying to figure out."

"He says you weren't in love with her before the coma because your brain wasn't glowing pink."

"Yeah."

"He's full of shit." Hodgins nudged Booth's knee with his beer bottle. "Any idiot could see you've been crazy about her for years."

"Yeah, any idiot. When was that, Jack? When I was sleeping with Cam? When I was drawing a line in the sand for everyone to look at? How about when I practically pushed her off to Sully?"

"Misdirection."

"You think I did all that on purpose? Subconsciously?"

"I'm no psychologist. But I'm sticking with "any idiot"."

"So you think I should go for it. Tell her how I feel?"

"Hell, I don't know. But I'll tell you this: Angie and I may not have worked out but I'd do it all over again and I'd give it another shot right now just because of how she made me feel. Don't pass that up just because you can't put everything in a nicely labeled box." Hodgins finished his beer, stood and clapped Booth on the shoulder before letting himself out.

Booth stared at the blank television like the playoffs were on. Hodgins had a point. He'd been crazy about her for years. And if he thought it over he could really see it. Really  _feel_  it. There've been hundreds of moments during the years he'd known her when he felt that elusive  _connection_  to another person.

"Go for it." He said to the empty room with a smile. He started whistling again as he made his way to the shower. Go for it.


	14. Chapter 14

Brennan was a sexually accomplished woman. She'd had a lot of sex with a not-too-modest number of partners. She'd been seduced and she'd seduced. So why was she so terrified? It had all seemed easy when Angela was sitting in her living room. Brennan was going to seduce Booth. Easy as...pie? Was it "pie"? But it would be easy.

Then she'd taken her shower. She'd lathered and exfoliated, shaved and tweezed, and fluffed and moisturized until the only thing left to do was choose something to wear. She had beautiful clothing – dresses that showcased her obvious charms, blouses in colors that set off her eyes, slacks that made her legs looks longer than they already were. But nothing seemed right for the job of seducing Booth. She figured he'd like something a little earthier, casual maybe. And she couldn't decide if lingerie would be his thing or not. And, if it was, would he prefer something soft, sweet and classy or something dark, sinful and sassy?

She figured she stared into her closet for at least twenty minutes. It usually took that long for her air conditioner to wreak havoc on her naked body. With a sigh of uncertainty she donned a long silk robe and pulled the sash tight around her waist.

A knocking on her door cleared her from the fog of confusion. Good, Angela was back with the food and more wine. She snagged her wine glass from the beside table and went to answer the door. "It's about time," she said as she pulled the door open, concentrating more on a flaw she'd just noticed in her pedicure than her friend's arrival, "I'm going crazy trying to decide—" and she noticed the decidedly masculine shoes just on the other side of her threshold. Her eyes snapped up. It was  _him_.

"Booth! What are you doing here?"

He appeared, she thought with satisfaction, to be gob-smacked. All that thought she'd put in to what he might like her to wear and it never occurred to her the answer would be "practically nothing". And practically nothing was what she was wearing. Yes, the robe was long, it trailed the floor. But the fabric was light and clung and, she admitted, left very little at all to the imagination. If you studied enough, and she noted Booth was, she'd long ago learned you could just make out the shape and color of her areolas.

She'd like to say she felt her nipples harden under his gaze but it probably had more to do with the fact she was still boarding on cold. The effect, however, was not lost on Booth. No, not lost at all. He'd not said a word since she opened the door, merely advanced on her until she'd moved out of his way and then waited, turned away from her, as she shut the door. When he'd turned, his eyes fell to her silk-clad breasts and hadn't moved.

"Booth?" Not that she didn't appreciate the attention but his stare was starting to heat her in places that created goose bumps in others.

He took a tentative step toward her and said, "I'm pretty sure this is one of the situations when you'd want to call me Seeley."

Wait a minute. She'd made up her mind to seduce him tonight. It was supposed to take a little effort. What was that edge in his voice? Had he come to her with the same goal in mind?

"Booth, what's going on?"

He took a step forward and grasped her wrist, the one attached to the hand holding her wine glass, in one hand and wrapped the loop of the silk tie loosely around the fingers of the other. "Temperance," he said slowly, "call me Seeley."

She opened her mouth to speak but before she could her front door opened again. "Oh. My. God." Angela walked the rest of the way into the apartment and divested herself of take-out and liquor store bags. "Please tell me this is what it looks like."

Both Booth and Brennan blinked at her as if they'd lost the ability to comprehend speech as a form of communication.

"Sweetie, you couldn't have waited until  _after_  I'd left to start your—"

"Angela!" Brennan had finally regained the ability to process lingual interaction and felt the sudden urge to cut her friend off before she said something embarrassing.

"Oh, please," Angela said with a smirk, "as if anyone here doesn't know what's about to happen."

Booth took a step back. Brennan realized then he'd still had, until that moment, a hold on her wrist and had been fingering the ties of her robe. She flushed with embarrassment. Yes, it was clear what was about to happen. She just couldn't figure out  _why_  it was about to happen. She was supposed to seduce Booth. He was supposed to be difficult to convince a sexual relationship would, in fact, work between them. He most certainly  _wasn't_  supposed to be the instigator. Was he instigating? It was possible she and Angela were misreading the entire situation, wasn't it?

Evidently her thought process had slowed considerably because she suddenly realized Angela had collected her purse and was most of the way out the door. Booth stood three feet away from her. His breath was labored, his eyes were wide and he appeared to have broken out in a nervous sweat. Could he possibly be the same man who, not five minutes before, had told her to call him "Seeley" in a voice Barry White would have envied?

With the added pressure of Angela's presence dissipating in her wake, he seemed to relax slightly. She looked him over. Jeans. T-Shirt. Both quite good on him. His cologne was still fresh, slightly more alcoholic than it usually was that time of day. There was a tension in his body, though, she couldn't remember ever defining him by. She had a sudden urge to put her hands on him.

She approached him carefully as if he were a twelve-point buck who'd stepped right into her crosshairs. He stood stock still. The man of action she was presented with when she opened the door was not the man she was then approaching. Her hands flexed when she stood directly in front of him. His warm breath smelled faintly of his toothpaste. With just the palms of her hands she laid a delicate touch on each pisiform and ran her hands up to his elbow. She relaxed her fingers until she held him in a light grasp. His exhale shuddered across her face.

She slid her hands back down his forearms until his she could clasp his hands. She took slow steps backward until they were standing in front of her couch. Carefully, she disengaged her hands from his and laid a light touch on his shoulders giving him just the smallest amount of pressure until he sat. She sat next to him, body angled in his direction and crossed one leg over the other. The slick silk parted and revealed her legs from mid thigh down. His eyes were drawn to the smooth expanse of her of skin bared to him.

"I'd made a decision to seduce you tonight." Her hands fluttered anxiously where the fabric of her robe crisscrossed above her breasts. "But you're here now and I have to admit I'm not sure what to do."

Her confession seemed to shake something loose within him and a small smile played at his lips. "I told you," he hesitated long enough to reach out and thread his fingers through her loose, slightly curled hair, "call me Seeley." Then he kissed her. His lips coaxed a pout from her he delicately suckled. The hand he'd twisted into her hair fisted and his other hand slid between the satiny silk of the robe and the milky-white skin of her thigh up and up until the backs of his fingers played over her iliac crest. His touch felt strangely intimate. He'd touched her there before, but never in that way and never on her naked skin.

The thought of his hand there, tanned skin against barely-sun-burnished ivory, made her gasp. They weren't, despite their lips playing about with different shapes and pressures, especially close together but heat rolled off him in waves. She fought the urge to crush him to her, to flatten her breasts that felt deprived and deliciously corpulent, against the chiseled planes of his cotton-clad chest.

He started pushing her then, just enough to tip her over, until she spilled first into the waiting hand behind her head and then across the cushions of her couch until she was prone and he hovered above her. His lips never left hers and as she reached the goal of the descent he'd forced her to his tongue breached the defenses erected by years of respecting lines.

She tried not to but she couldn't help but moan and he scooped up the sound and fed it right back to her, deeper and huskier than the way he'd taken it. She slid her tongue against his in the way she liked done to her and he took the hint, massaging its delicate edges with the flat of his.

Her legs were skewed beneath him and she could tell her robe no longer maintained her modesty. But his eyes were closed, anyway, as he kissed her liked she'd never been kissed before. The man kissed as if it alone could be the impetus for orgasm. With the inside of her knee she stroked over the hip pocket of his jeans applying more and more pressure until he growled and drew his hand back up her thigh to grasp the maddening appendage. His fingers felt so rough against the delicate skin there.

When she'd stilled satisfactorily he reached between them and tugged at the sash that held her robe closed. The silk easily slipped through itself but the robe declined to slide from her skin without the coaxing of his questing fingers. Two quick flicks of his wrist and she was laid bare to him. His eyes drifted down to take in the sight of her naked breasts and he appeared to be memorizing the sight but then his eyes trailed up the smooth column of her throat until his they were boring back into hers.

She was shocked by what she saw there. While he'd never given her that exact look before she felt as if she'd seen it hundreds of times. She struggled to find her voice and when she did it sounded rough and needy. "What? What is it?" He stilled above her completely, the slight rocking she hadn't realized he'd been doing stopped. The rise and fall of his chest with deep, steady breaths stopped, chest expanded with the added volume of air. "Booth," her familiar designation slipped out with a bit of worry, "what happened?"

"I slipped and fell, Bones. And there's nothing I can do about it now."


	15. Chapter 15

He'd gone hard when she answered the door, that cream colored silk just dripping off her nipples. He was stunned nearly silent by the pretty picture she presented standing there in silk holding a glass of blood-red wine. She'd called him "Booth" twice when he realized all he really wanted was to hear his given name sashay out from between lips colored only with residue of her wine. And suddenly, no matter for which reason he'd gone to her, he knew he had to have her. Then, not later. He wanted to know if her skin was slicker than the robe that failed to conceal her as she'd likely wanted. No, it showcased her.

And then, hovering above her on the couch, nothing but what seemed like miles of her bare skin beneath him, he told her the only thing he could and yet the one thing that would probably get him kicked out of her home, left aching and wanting on the wrong side of her apartment door. "I lied to you. Several times. But we can do my part later. You deserve this," he pressed his hips deep into the space she created with her bent, splayed knees, "your part now. It's what you know, what you understand. And I'll give it to you first. Just tell me you'll hear me out."

He knew it wasn't fair pressing an erection into the soft, wet part of her that was already begging for him. It wasn't fair, but it was good. And he could feel her shudder under him and that was good too. He knew his body and knew how to use it. And despite the fact he'd never been in that position with her, he knew her body too. With a slow roll of his hips he dragged the denim covered bulge of his erection over her clit and watched with relish the way her eyes fluttered shut and her skin began to glow pink.

She opened her mouth to moan but her lips were already forming the words, "You lied to me?" It came out breathy and wanton, slightly mangled. She took a deep breath when he angled his tormenting body away from her. "About what?"

He dipped his head down to kiss her again, desperate to feel the soft flesh one more time before she sent him packing. And while he was down there he couldn't resist the temptation to tongue one peaked nipple.

She swatted at him, "You're distracting me. What did you lie to me about?"

He sighed. "You're sure you wouldn't rather do your thing first?"

"You can't open with 'I lied to you' and then move right into sex. There's a rule. Angela's mentioned it."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't offer." He sat up and moved away from her, back against the arm of the couch. She moved to follow but he waved her back. If he was going to potentially blow this he was going to look at her naked as long as possible. "I lied to you when I told you I loved you, every time I did it."

She gasped, a look of terror – if other people wore it that's what he would have called it – on her face.

"I told you I loved you in a professional way. That was a lie. Then later I told you I loved you in a platonic way. That was a lie too."

"In all fairness you told me the things you loved about me weren't just professional."

"That's right. That wasn't a lie. I do love you. I love you in that crazy, mixed up, doesn't go away, has nothing to do with professions or friendships kind of way. Though, I guess I love you those ways as well." He knew he was grinning, but he couldn't help himself. "Looks like I didn't lie after all." He grew serious again. "I love you. Real-deal love you. And Sweets told me not to tell you because of the brain scan, but I can't not tell you. I can't do  _this_  with you and not tell you."

"What brain scan?"

Trust her to focus on that even after all the pretty words he'd told her. "The before, during and after shots of my brain. There's this spot in your head and when you're in love it glows pink on the scan. It was glowing during and after my coma."

She nodded in understanding. "But not before."

"Right. Not before."

"So you could be wrong about how you think you feel about me."

"That's what he says."

"You're the one who trusts your heart. Trusts your gut. What's your gut telling you?"

"That I love you."

"This could turn into a long conversation considering I've spend the better part of the day contemplating the concepts of love." She smiled and started to sit up again. "Why don't you come to bed with me where we can discuss it all properly?"

He knew he was grinning like an idiot but he couldn't help it. She'd just invited him to her bed. But as quickly as the mirth came it went. He felt his pupils dilate further and the room went soft and fuzzy around him. But there she was – robe hanging determinedly off her body, breasts proud with pointing nipples, legs akimbo throwing shadows down into the one part of her he'd yet to access – in clear focus. "No time. I'm not going to make you wait any longer."

And he moved back over her, pressing her deep into the couch cushions. Like he had in his fantasy that morning in the shower, he dragged his tongue over the curve of her shoulder. She groaned as if he was causing her pain – the kind of pain that only comes from intense pleasure. He tucked his head and looked down her body. Her breasts were heaving and his breath was stirring the tiny peach-fuzz blond hairs that covered her chest. He'd been staring for a while, he realized, when her hand threaded through the hair at the back of his head and directed his mouth toward one neglected nipple and she said, "God, Seeley, do something already."

Before he could react she wormed her other hand between their bodies and brushed the backs of her fingers against his hard-on. The contact made him jump then thrust as if he could spear right into her through his clothing. He sucked the offered nipple between his lips and opened up to take as much of her into his mouth as he could all the while letting the heavy, double-layered cloth of his fly drag over the very sensitive point of pleasure between her legs. She drew her hand out from between them and brought it up to stroke his cheek. She was wet and dewy from where he'd pressed her fingers when he'd sunk into her. And fragrant. God, that smell alone. He'd never get over it. He recognized it, light on the air during long nights in the car, quiet nights on his couch or hers and he soared with the knowledge she'd been aroused by him before.

He became aware then of a slight chaffing where he really didn't want chaffing and realized while he was dry humping her on her couch like some inexperienced teenager her body was reacting completely like a woman who knew what was next. "You're wet."

She started to laugh and he looked up at her. "Yes, I am. That's surprising to you?"

He growled at her and swooped down for a kiss, it was hotter and wetter and still just a bit deeper than any of the kisses they'd shared before. He broke apart from her and sucked in a huge lungful of air. "Help me get my pants off."

With laughter still in her voice, "Have you become incapable of removing your pants?

"No, but I've got much better things to be doing with my hands." He slid a roughened hand down her body, stopping briefly to tweak her nipples, tickle her ribs, and wait for her giggle, until he reached the very center of her. With questing fingers he explored her landscape. He scratched his nails through the short hair he encountered and then let the pads of his fingers slide through the slickness he'd spread around her. He bumped up against her clit and she hissed so he did it again before sliding down just a little further to what he could only think of as the mouth of the springs. He wasn't sure he'd ever been with a woman who'd been so wet. She was mewling then and he had to smile because he hadn't thought it possible to reduce the mighty Temperance Brennan to kittenish sounds.

He didn't push his fingers inside her. He wanted to, but he loved the way her hips angled back and forth trying to force him inside. "See?" he asked. "Better things to do with my hands. Now, take off my pants." Each word one punctuated with a sharp nip to her collar bones. Her fingers flew to the waist band of his jeans. It seemed as if she liked a little demanding in her sexual partners.

She'd been largely quiet outside of teasing him and he was desperate to hear her say his name again. So as she fumbled with his button, that was slick with her juices and likely difficult to manage, he rapidly flicked one nipple with his tongue then drew it between his teeth giving it a sharp pinch at the moment he swiped a heavy finger against her clit. She shouted but didn't say his name so he switched breasts and tried again. Another sharp cry followed by a long moan, but still not his name. He switched again and noticed her fingers had stilled on his pants, but he really didn't care. He repeated his actions one more time, but thrust two fingers deep into her. "Ah, Seeley, oh, fuck. How did you—"

"Good girl," he rumbled before covering her mouth with his own. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and he figured by then he'd been teasing her for quite a while. She was sopping wet and he imagined the wet spot he'd find on her upholstery when they got up. A wet spot that would exist whether he contributed or not and he grew harder. "My pants, Temperance, my pants," he said in a soft singsong-y voice. He thrust his fingers inside her again to make sure she knew why she was concentrating on the task at hand.

His coaxing worked because moments later he found relief in loosened jeans and between her hands and one of his they managed to push his pants down around his thighs. He didn't think he'd ever been harder than he was at that moment. The sensitive skin of his engorged dick was bathed in the heat radiating from her pussy. He grinned when he thought the word.

He wanted to plunge into her, ease some of the tension he was throbbing with but she was wiggling around beneath him and he realized he wanted to see her thrash. He tapped his name in Morse Code against her clit and she stilled as if waiting for an answering transmission. Short-short-short, short, short, short-long-short-short, short, long-short-long-long. He did it again and she writhed. The third time he got to the "Y" her thighs started to quiver and he realized she was suspended in the gossamer place right before orgasm. So he did what any good man would do. He backed off.

"No, no, Seeley, no, please," she was babbling and he thought it was at once both the cutest and most highly arousing thing he'd ever heard. He'd severely limited the vocabulary of the smartest woman he'd ever met and it made him feel powerful. And the way she said his name, even when the offerings of her body were before him the sound of his name on her lips still had the power to drive him mad.

He slid down her body while pushing her further toward her end of the couch. From the new angle he could look directly down into hottest place of her. She was dripping wet. Her arousal was shiny and frothy where it slicked down her skin and it glimmered off the short auburn hairs she'd left to complete the picture of womanhood. Her clit was red, and swollen and he felt bad a little because it looked painful. He looked back up her body. Her head was propped up on the arm of the couch and she was watching him intently. Their eyes met, he winked and let his tongue lead the way.


	16. Chapter 16

She wasn't sure she'd ever seen anything as sexy as the slight wiggle of his red tongue as it disappeared between her labia. His eyes were locked on hers but she couldn't look away from the undulations of his tongue. She could feel what he was doing, massaging her clitoral hood with the stiff point of his tongue and then using the soft flat of his tongue to buff the sensitive underside of the tiny bundle of nerves. She swore she could almost feel his taste buds; he was being so thorough in his attentions. But as much as she could feel him it was the seeing him – head buried between her legs, eyes locked on her face – that ratcheted up the level of her arousal.

She reached down, threaded her fingers through his hair, and molded her hand to the back of his head giving slight pressure and direction as needed so she'd have the best stimulation. And, she noted with satisfaction, he was a quick study. She needed only show him an angle or pressure once before he could repeat it unerringly.

Before long he focused all his attentions on his work. Once his eyes weren't searching hers she took the opportunity to relax the muscles of her neck and lean against the arm of the couch. Her eyes fell closed when he started teasing her opening with the pad of one finger in perfect counterpoint to the rhythms of his tongue. She was pleased to find he had a unique style when it came to performing cunnilingus. She imagined that creativity would extend to other areas of sexual skill as well.

She was so focused on the feel of his mouth on her she'd failed to notice the warning signs in her body until the last possible moment. She found herself in that flash right before orgasm – that most delicious instant that's almost better than the tumble over the edge. She knew she was panting but his mouth was too busy to tease her so she allowed it. As if he could sense the inner workings of her body, just as she plunged over the precipice of pleasure, he pressed into her with two thick, strong fingers and gave a hard and sure stroke to her G-Spot.

She exploded. A sudden rush of warm liquid left her to wonder, as best she could amid the quaking and keening – she couldn't believe she  _keened_ , if he'd really just coaxed her body into ejaculating. Was that really possible? No, it was an urban myth, right? No matter what it was it was a wonderful culmination to a most satisfying climax.

When she finally opened her eyes he was staring at her again with a smirk on his face, "You're pretty loud, you know that?"

"It was a fantastic climax," she said with a slow easy smile.

"Climax? Temperance, you've been trying to shatter the windows for the last five minutes."

She was stunned. She'd never been overly vocal during sex. And to have been so outside her head – especially when she thought she was fully present – that she'd had no idea she'd been providing a soundtrack, well, "You are truly fantastic at that."

He slunk up her body like a great cat leaving his jeans behind in his wake. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it." He kissed her thoroughly, leaving her taste on her lips, her tongue, and the back of her teeth. He'd kissed her, she'd never admit she thought it, with love.

She felt ridiculously sated but there he was, throbbing between her legs. Never before had she had such a phenomenal experience with oral sex that she couldn't have cared less whether or not there was true intercourse. But despite her languor she couldn't help but wonder what he'd feel like pressed way up inside her where she was sure she was still incredibly sensitive.

He thrust tenderly against her thigh. He was so incredibly hard and his heat, it rocked her. But he held himself above her lavishing all the skin he could reach with tender kisses and soft laves with his tongue. He worshiped her with his mouth and still he caressed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh with his hardened shaft. And she enjoyed his attentions allowing her body to cool from extreme ardor to something much more manageable.

After many minutes of the royal treatment she remembered herself, "You've got to be uncomfortable by now."

"Oh what, this?" He thrust a little harder against her thigh and bumped up against the crease where leg turned into torso. He'd taken on a teasing air since he'd informed her of her abundant vocalizations. He had a smug smile on his face she had the sudden urge to wipe away. With quick hands she reached between them and with a tiny shift of her hips his next playful thrust drove him inside her.

She'd meant to take him down a peg but it was she who lost the ability to reason. Though, if his groan of pleasure was anything to go by, he'd been gratifyingly surprised as well. She'd been with large men, small men, long men and short men but never had she been with a man whose proportions so perfectly suited her own. Despite the many minutes he gave her to relax after her amazing orgasm she still felt slippery and tender inside.

His thrusts were measured and the sheer concentration on his face told her he was really keeping himself in check. Experimentally, she tightened her inner muscles around him. She watched with pleasure as his eyes rolled back and he trembled. He felt thick inside her, stretching her pleasantly. His glans stuck her cervix with every thrust and she liked the little twinge she felt when it happened.

He still appeared to be concentrating very hard on being gentle with her. That just wouldn't do. "I need you to let go."

He looked down at her sharply then glanced at his hands which were firmly seated on the couch cushions next to her shoulder. "Huh?"

"Let go, Booth. You don't have to be gentle with me. I'm not going to break."

His only response was a guttural moan and his hips began to piston faster. With the added speed she got harder thrusts and within moments he'd found a comfortable rhythm that seemed to suit them both. She was incredibly aware of all the sounds she was making but she couldn't seem to stop the little cry that would escape her at the bottom of each stroke.

After a few minutes of the intense feelings coursing through her body had rendered her practically unintelligent she felt him stop, pull out of her, and begin to shift away. "What? No?"

He grinned at her again – she was really going to have to do something about that smirk – "Oh, we're not done, Baby, not even close. But you called me "Booth" back there a bit ago and I think it's about time you were set right."

"Pardon me?"

He sat relaxed against the back of the couch, legs spread slightly, dark penis jutting out and away in a manner she'd describe as angry if it had a personality of its own. And she realized then it was the first time she'd really gotten a good look at it. Well, a good look when it was okay to be caught looking.

Penises, as a general rule, weren't especially aesthetically pleasing but his she'd be willing to call a work of art. His skin was tanned, just the natural Booth coloring, she supposed, and he was circumcised. Purplish veins stood in stark relief to the smooth planes of tissue. He was glistening with the remains of her orgasm and leaking from the slit graced his head. He was slightly flared there but in perfect symmetry to the rest of him. The hair that surrounded the base of him was dark but not wild. Oh yes, work of art.

He was laughing then, and she wasn't sure why so she quirked an eyebrow in his direction. "You were staring with this look on your face I've never seen. I think I saw your eyes glaze over. Every guy's gonna love to see that."

She shook her head slightly. "You said something about setting me right?"

"You called me "Booth". After," he pointed out gleefully, "you insisted on permission to call me "Seeley"."

"I never  _insisted_  I be allowed to call you "Seeley". I merely thought there might be times when it would be  _nice_  to be able to call you "Seeley"."

"And we agreed that this," he gestured between them, "would be the sort of situation in which that would be appropriate."

"I don't recall ever having made any specific decisions concerning sexual situations." She started to laugh at the ridiculousness of the conversation. But it was fun to laugh during sex. "And you know, the longer you want to go over what I'm calling you the longer you're going to have to wait to do something about  _that_." She pointed one long finger at his very impressive erection.

"Good point. Get over here." He reached out and grabbed her arm pulling her up and over him.

She shrieked in surprise but laughed as she settled into a comfortable straddle over his thighs. He really was a very handsome man and she couldn't resist the urge to kiss him. So she did and did again then she leaned in to kiss him again but evaded the capture of his lips several times. Finally he growled and held her head in place so he could detain her lips with his own. As they kissed she could feel the steady thrum of his heart against her right breast and she noted she could feel his engorged cock brush against her stomach just after each beat. Oh, she thought, he was so hard and had waited so long.

With grace she couldn't have dreamed she possessed at that point she rose up over him while grasping his shoulders and allowed him to guide himself back into her. "You let me do some of the work for a while." She kissed him lightly before she started to post up and down with a wickedly slow tempo.

"I would have let you do some of the work before if I would have thought your legs still worked." She clenched her inner muscles around him in retaliation and he groaned. "If that's my punishment expect me to spend a lot of time being a bad, bad man."

"I figure you've got a lot of banked brownie points. But you'll eventually use them up."

"I guess I'd better work on making sure I'm always earning more then."

"That sounds like a reasonable course of action."

She was still rising and lowering herself on him as slowly as her muscles would allow. "Come on, Temperance, move." There was a pleading quality to his voice she decided she could get used to but she took a little pity on him and sped up her movements.

After a few more minutes she felt her body starting to coil for release again. She wouldn't have thought she had it in her. "Oh, I think I'm going to come again." If she'd been with anyone else she may have hated that breathy quality to her voice, just a little.

"Yeah?"

"Can you wait for me?"

He groaned, "If I have to."

"You could help," she hoped her whispered moans carried the teasing quality the words had in her head. Evidently he wasn't offended, though, because he took multi-tasking to a whole new level. She found him driving up into her, meeting her downward thrusts, his mouth was locked onto her, his tongue reaching out to her sensually, with one hand he was skillfully caressing a breast and tweaking a nipple and with the other hand he was searching out her clit.

God, it was all too much. She was on sensory overload. The speed with which their hips were connecting was more than she'd thought possible from either of that at that point and he touched her as if he knew exactly what she needed and how she needed it.

"Are you almost there," he asked when he was able to disengage from her mouth.

"God, yes. Just—" and she pitched forward with the force of her orgasm. She had no choice but to bury her head in the crook of his neck. As wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her she scraped her teeth against the suntanned skin of his neck.

That slight added stimulation sent him over the edge too. If she hadn't been so thoroughly fucked she would have added to his stimulation while he orgasmed but she found she had little control over her own body. He was rumbling satisfaction in her ear and she could still feel him twitch inside her even after it appeared the best of the pleasure was past.

"So now would you like to go to bed?" She sounded happy and sleepy even to herself.

"That sounds like a genius idea."

"I have a lot of those."

He chucked as he wrapped his arms around her, "I know."

They held their positions quietly for a few moments, each waiting to regain their breaths. "We're definitely going to need to talk about this."

He pulled back from her until he could look into her eyes. "Yeah, we're gonna need to talk. But it's gonna be easy. You don't need to worry about the talking part."

"But, what about—"

He cut her off, "I said you didn't need to worry and I meant it. I know you don't get it, not really, the whole love thing. But I'm willing to take the time and show you what it means."

"Don't you mean "explain" what it means?"

"Can't explain. No quantifiable data. You're just going to have to let actions speak louder than words on this one."

"But—"

"No. You're not going to over think this. You deal with your part and I'll deal with mine."

"You think the only way I can show you how I feel about you is through sex?"

"I think  _you_  think that's the only way you can show me. I know better. You show me all the time how you feel about me."

She grinned at him. "And how do I feel about you, Agent Booth?"

He kissed the tip of her nose, "Oh, you're just crazy about me, Baby."

She consciously struck the look of happiness from her face. "And you said you didn't need quantifiable data." She started to get up.

He grabbed her wrist and halted her upward progress, "Tease me as much as you want, Temperance, but don't toy with me."

Her face softened, she hadn't meant to scare him. She leaned down and kissed him again, "Teasing, teasing. I promise. I am especially fond of you."

He looked as if he'd take that for the time being and accepted the hand she offered to lead him to bed.


	17. Chapter 17

"Bones, did you move the coffee?" He had to raise his voice so she could hear him. She was puttering around her bedroom taking much longer to get dressed than he ever would have imagined she did.

"It should be in the usual place. Am I out?" She wandered into the kitchen and stood in the doorway. With one hand she was straightening the leather strap on a shoe and with the other she was threading a dangly earring through the hole in her left lobe.

"Guess so." He finally found the jar she usually kept the coffee in, opened it, and then upended it over the counter sprinkling the last remnants of the grounds across her otherwise clean counters.

"Booth," she admonished.

He found a dishtowel and wiped up the mess. "Are you just about ready? We've still got to go by my place and at this rate we're going to be late."

"Is this really necessary? It can't wait until tomorrow?" He wanted to tell her sure, it could wait until Monday. Then he could spend all day in bed with her. But he didn't want to put off the session any longer than he had to. He wanted their doubts buried before they created unwarranted problems.

"Look at it this way, if we do it today we don't have to do it tomorrow."

"Well, that's true." She adjusted the strap on her other shoe.

He couldn't help but smile. Both of them standing in her kitchen, her putting the finishing touches on her outfit, him trying to make coffee, arguing about the events of the day. It was exactly the sort of thing he wanted. But also exactly the sort of thing she'd spent years trying to avoid. That morning was one thing. It was the "morning after". She hadn't tired of him yet. But what about a month later? Or a year? He couldn't think about that, not so soon. So he gathered her into his arms and kissed her. When he broke to take a breath she said, "You're the one who says we're going to be late. Aren't you just exacerbating the situation?" She tempered the sting of her words with a mischievous smile.

He grumbled good-naturedly. "Yeah, yeah." When she turned to go back to the bedroom to finish dressing he swatted her ass. "Get a move on."

She threw a cheeky glance over her shoulder and wiggled her behind at him. "I'll be ready when I'm ready. Sweets can wait."

He turned back to the cabinets to search for tea bags and found himself whistling. When was the last time he was happy enough to spontaneously whistle? It had been a while, he knew that much. He felt  _with_  her and to him that was the fun part. Sure the sex was great. Mind-blowing, really. But what he loved most about relationships was the relationship part.

And he really thought she'd be strange about it when they woke up that morning. They'd gone to bed early. It was about seven o'clock if the quick glance at the clock didn't lie when he'd snuggled down into her bed. But they were up again before midnight and again just after four. By six thirty they were both starving and she offered to make macaroni and cheese for breakfast. And Sweet's thought Booth wasn't in love. How could he not love a woman who made macaroni and cheese for breakfast?

At eight thirty he'd called the young psychologist requesting a session. He was pretty sure he shocked the boy. Booth knew it wasn't like him to seek the kid out, but it was important and he'd suffer through the inanity if it mean warding off potential problems. Because he knew. He just knew. What he felt wasn't a side effect of a healing brain or a symptom of coma dreams. And Hodgins was right. Booth was crazy about Bones and there wasn't any he could do about it.

By the time he heard her heels clacking on the floor behind him he'd prepared hot tea in two travel mugs.

"You know," he heard from behind him, "you don't  _really_  have to change before we go to Sweets' office." Her voice sounded thick and sultry.

He turned around and handed her one of the travel mugs while gesturing to the front of his pants. "Really? You want to explain this?"  _This_  being the rather compelling evidence of the previous night's arousal he'd taken the opportunity to soak in. While all naked and pressed underneath him on that couch right over—"So, no. Changing clothes. C'mon, Bones, we've gotta roll."

She laughed, "Okay, okay. But come on all ready. If it wouldn't have taken you so long to discover I was out of coffee we wouldn't be running so late."

"Oh, no you don't. You own this one. You might be a brilliant scientist but you're still just a woman. And you more than proved that this morning. I never would have thought it would take you over an hour to shower and dress. On a Sunday, no less."

"Sunday, Booth!"

"Yeah, we've established that."

"Don't you have Church?"

He shook his head, "not today."

"But you always go to Church."

"This is important. I think God will understand." He leveled a finger at her. "But don't think this means you're going to talk me into taking day trips to museums and plays on Sundays instead of sending me to Church."

"What about lazy Sundays in bed?" She sidled up to him and was attempting to use her wiles to get him to agree.

It was a pretty good attempt, he rationalized, but still managed to answer, "How about lazy early Sunday mornings in bed followed by Church, where I will not pressure you to go, then meet back up afterwards for some just us time."

"Why couldn't you just come back here for the "just us" time?"

"Because as much as I can't wait until the next time you let me make love to you there's so much more I want to do with you."

She laughed. "You want to date me?"

"Why do you say it like that?"

"We've been together for five years."

"Well not exactly  _together_  together."

"But we've dated, Booth. I think the only place we haven't gone together that is a regular date activity would be the movies."

"Then we'll start at the movies." He paused for a moment as realization dawned. "Wait a minute."

"What?" She looked genuinely confused where before she'd looked like she was teasing him.

"We're talking about dating."

"I thought we were talking about a relationship. But if you just wanted to date, I guess..." She trailed off looking suddenly more unsure of herself than he'd ever seen.

"I thought you said you weren't interested in monogamy."

"Let's just say I'm starting to see the draw." She had that mischievous smile back on her lips.

"And why is that?"

She turned serious. "Just one night, Booth, and I can't stand the thought of you with another woman. Not just the sex, though I'm feeling the urge to threaten to cut off your penis if you so much as point it in the direction of another woman – and I'm not all together comfortable with that, but also the way you look at me. I think it would break my heart if I ever had to see you look at another woman that way."

He gasped. Had she really said that? He dropped his voice to a near whisper, "Bones, what did you just say?"

"I said I think I'd be jealous if you—"

"No, not that part. The last part."

She stopped and seemed as if she was running back through her words in her head. "That it would break my heart if you looked at another woman the way you look at me?"

"Yeah, that part."

"I don't understand the question."

"Your heart, Bones. The part of you that supplies blood to the rest of your body. You're afraid it's going to break?"

Suddenly she understood his point and looked caught. "I didn't mean that."

He advanced on her. "Yes, you did." When he was close enough to take the travel mug out of her hands he did and set it on the table behind her. "You're worried I'm going to break your heart."

"No, I didn't say that."

"That's what you meant."

"No."

"Temperance." He took her face in his hands and rubbed his thumbs along her cheekbones. "It's okay to understand what the rest of us mean when we talk about our hearts."

"It's incorrect to say feelings have anything at all to do with the human heart."

"It's metaphorical and you're smart enough to grasp that. Stop running."

"I'm not running."

"You've been running all your life. Running from the possibility of being hurt by telling everyone in your life you don't understand the ways in which people can hurt each other. Stop running."

"Last night you told me you slipped and fell. What did you mean?"

"That I fell in love with you. I've already told you that."

"What did it feel like?"

"Falling in love?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. I just woke up one day and loved you."

"But how did you know you were  _in_  love with me?"

"I don't know. I can't really define it. I trust my heart."

"I want to be in love with you. You're a good man. But I'm afraid you'll go away. Everyone I've ever loved has gone away."

"And some of those people have come back."

"But some haven't."

"No, some haven't." He knew he sounded sadder for her than she sounded for herself. But he wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about at that moment. It sounded like one thing but maybe it was another entirely.

He watched as her eyes misted, "I don't think I could bear it if you went away."

"I'll spend the rest of my life standing right here proving to you I'm not going anywhere."

"The rest of your life could be a long time."

"Or not."

That time when her eyes filled she couldn't hold back the tears. She traced a finger over the incision scar from his recent surgery then over his shirt just over the scar from the bullet he'd take for her. "Or not." The tears continued to track down her face but he didn't wipe them away. He felt like they were important. "How do people stand this? Knowing that life is so tenuous, why do people choose to let their own happiness be so dependent on someone else?"

"Because that's what we do. We're people and we have feelings."

"Well," she said tearfully, "feelings suck."

He laughed at her candor and gathered her into his arms cradling her head onto his shoulder with one large hand stroking through her hair. "Yeah, sometimes they do." He kissed the top of her head. "This is one of the reasons I love you, you know."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're so real and so honest and it's beautiful how feeling something can still surprise you. It's exciting."

"It doesn't feel exciting. It feels excruciating."

"It'll get better."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, too."

"I never said I loved you."

"There's more than one way to say "I love you"."

She seemed to contemplate that while smoothing her hands over the back of his shirt. "I concur."

"You concur?"

"Yes. If I look back over the last couple of years I can think of many ways you've told me you loved me despite the fact the first time you said it out loud very recently."

"You tell me too, even if you don't realize it."

"I'm still not sure I entire understand the concept of love."

"Yes, you do. It's that little word "in" that's giving you all the trouble. That's because you're giving it all the power. Try not to be a scientist for just a few minutes and let that little word not matter. It doesn't, really. It's a distinction for talking."

"It's semantics."

"Yeah. Semantics."

They stood in each other's embrace for quite a while. It felt good to hold her. She wasn't thinking and she wasn't running. "You know," he finally said, "We're going to be really late now. Maybe we should reschedule."

"And do what?"

"I can think of a thing or two."

"There's a wonderful exhibit at the—"

She shrieked as he picked her up swung her around. "No way, lady. No exhibits unless it's a nude rendition of you on Egyptian Cotton."

"Sweets is going to be really upset if we stand him up."

He grabbed for the cordless phone, "Okay, okay." He dialed the younger man's cell number and waited for an answer. "Sweets, it's Booth. Bones and I can't make it in today after all. Why? Well, see, Bones slipped and fell and I think she's going to need me to take care of her for a while. Yeah, will do. Bye."


End file.
